On the morning of the fifth day, a series of orderly footsteps suddenly sounded outside Changle Palace.
Eunuchs held a long sword, bowing respectfully as they stood: “Your servant pays respects to the Empress. His Majesty has specially ordered this servant to deliver a sword, and humbly requests that Your Majesty accept it.”
Murong Zhao stepped forward and reached out to take it.
The scabbard was forged from deep-sea black iron, inlaid with fine sapphires. Under the sunlight, it shimmered with iridescent brilliance, cool and weighty to the touch. She gently drew the sword from its sheath—a clear, ringing sound echoed as the blade emerged, white as snow, its cold gleam piercing and sharp enough to slice through a falling hair. It was a hundred times more magnificent and a hundred times more formidable than the old sword her mother had left behind.
The messenger bowed with a smile: “His Majesty said that Your Majesty’s old sword is too worn and unworthy of Your status. It is time for a new one.”
Murong Zhao held the sword in her hand, her fingertips sensing the chill emanating from the blade. She nodded calmly: “Please convey my gratitude to His Majesty. Tell him… I am very fond of it.”
After the eunuchs withdrew, Su Yue circled the new sword, her eyes shining: “Your Majesty! This sword is simply too beautiful! His Majesty must have put thought into it, otherwise why would he specially gift you something so precious?”
Murong Zhao said nothing, only gently placing the new sword on the desk while keeping the old one close to her person.
Outside the window, a gaze flickered and vanished.
Zi Yuan, carrying a tea tray, pretended to pass by casually, but the corner of her eye remained fixed on the new sword, a complex emotion flashing in her gaze.
When she turned to leave, her steps were slightly quicker than when she had arrived.
That evening, under the bright moonlight, Xiao Yan arrived as promised.
As soon as he entered the hall, his gaze fell upon the brand-new sword on the desk before her. His stern features softened slightly, and his voice was low: “Do you like it?”
“I do,” Murong Zhao answered truthfully. After a pause, she added softly, “It’s just…”
“Just what?” Xiao Yan took a few steps closer, his eyes fixed on her face.
“The sword bestowed by Your Majesty, I will treasure it daily and carry it close to me,” Murong Zhao lifted her gaze, her expression open and earnest. “But my old sword is the only keepsake from my mother. Its meaning is different… I wish to keep it as well.”
She feared he might misunderstand her as ungrateful, or worse, think her unaware of his kindness.
Yet, after hearing her words, Xiao Yan not only showed no displeasure but suddenly smiled.
The smile was faint, yet it genuinely softened the perpetual sternness on his face, his features instantly growing gentle, like the first thaw of ice and snow, enough to leave one momentarily dazed.
He rarely smiled; in the entire inner palace, those who had seen him smile could be counted on one hand.
“Keep it,” his voice grew a touch warmer. “Keep them both.”
He walked to the window, gazing at the moonlight outside. After a moment of silence, he suddenly spoke: “Do you know why I gifted you this sword?”
Murong Zhao was slightly taken aback, lifting her eyes to look at him.
Xiao Yan did not turn around, his voice low, as if speaking of something he had pondered for a long time: “I ascended the throne at the age of ten. For the first two years, I did not have a sword of my own. There was nothing I could do, no one I could protect.”
“Later, I obtained my first sword—not a real sword, but the first person willing to follow me, the first shadow guard willing to risk his life for me.”
He turned to face her, his gaze deep as a pool: “From then on, I gradually built my own power. Step by step, I reached where I am today.”
“A sword is for protection, but also for forging a path.”
He paused, his voice growing softer: “I hope you, too, will have such a sword.”
"To protect yourself, and also… to cleave through all that seeks to block your path."
Murong Zhao's heart trembled.
Cleave through all that seeks to block your path.
He knew how difficult her journey had been, knew of the assassinations, the withheld resources, the endless obstacles, knew she had been isolated and helpless within this deep palace.
Giving her this sword was not merely an act of favor—it was a hope that she, like him, could carve out her own path from the abyss.
She lowered her gaze, looking at the new sword at her waist, her fingertips lightly tracing the gemstones on the scabbard.
After a long moment, she spoke softly, "What does Your Majesty wish this humble consort to cleave through?"
Xiao Yan looked at her, his gaze carrying a hint of admiration and a trace of anticipation. "Cleave through everything you wish to cleave."
"In my court, half are the Empress Dowager's people. In your inner palace, half—perhaps more than half—are as well…"
"For now, I cannot move against them, and you cannot move against them either."
"But together, we can slowly, bit by bit, clear away all these eyesores."
Together.
Murong Zhao lifted her eyes to meet his gaze.
In those eyes lay the authority of an emperor, the sharp edge honed through years of endurance, and… a glimmer of expectation for her.
He was not treating her as a pawn, nor as a tool.
He was treating her as—
A companion by his side.
Someone who could stand with him, cleaving through the entrapments of this deep palace.
Murong Zhao suddenly smiled.
The smile was faint, yet brighter than ever before.
"Alright."
She spoke softly, just a single word.
But that one word carried the weight of a thousand pounds.
Xiao Yan looked at her, a faint smile also rising in his eyes.
He reached out and gently pressed his hand upon the hilt of the new sword.
"This sword is my gift to you."
"From now on, use it to protect yourself, and also… to cleave through all that you wish to cleave."
Murong Zhao lowered her gaze, watching his hand resting on the hilt.
She suddenly remembered that night, the look in his eyes when he said "Murong Zhao."
Remembered the feeling of her heart skipping a beat in that moment.
Slowly, she raised her hand and placed it over the hilt as well.
Two hands, one above the other, resting upon the same sword.
Xiao Yan was slightly taken aback, then the corner of his mouth lifted in an almost imperceptible curve.
He did not speak, only looked at her.
Murong Zhao also remained silent, her eyes fixed on the sword.
The hall was utterly quiet, with only the candlelight flickering gently.
In this moment, no words were needed.
They both understood.
From now on, they were together.
Together, they would cleave through the entrapments of this deep palace.
Together, they would fight for the future they desired.
After a long while, Xiao Yan withdrew his hand and turned to leave.
Reaching the doorway, he suddenly paused and looked back at her.
"Murong Zhao."
She lifted her gaze.
He looked into her eyes, word by word, "I await to see how vast a world you can cleave open."
With those words, his dark-clad figure vanished into the night.
Murong Zhao stood where she was, unmoving for a long time.
A moment later, the new sword was hung upon the wall.
The gemstones on the scabbard glimmered faintly in the candlelight, like distant stars in the night sky.
She suddenly remembered the old sword her mother had left her.
The old sword was kept close, holding the path she had traveled.
The new sword hung on the wall, carrying the fate that lay ahead.
Two swords—the past and the future—both now held in her own hands.
She raised her hand and gently grasped the hilt.
Steady.
Unprecedentedly steady.
Outside the window, the moonlight was cold and clear, yet in her eyes, there was light.
After he left, Su Yue immediately pulled Wei Zhao, who was guarding outside the door, and hid under the corridor, whispering excitedly, her small face full of excitement: "Wei Zhao, did you see it! His Majesty just smiled at the princess! He really smiled! No one has ever seen His Majesty smile like that!"
Wei Zhao followed her gaze, looking toward Murong Zhao standing under the lamp inside the hall.
At the girl's waist hung two long swords, one old and one new—one concealing past affections, the other carrying present favor.
He nodded silently, saying nothing, but his gaze was complex and hard to decipher.
There was relief—the princess was finally no longer alone.
There was reassurance—with His Majesty protecting her, the princess's days would be better.
But there was also worry—this deep palace has always been a place that devours people. The better His Majesty treats the princess, the more eyes will be fixed on her. Once she becomes too deeply entangled, there will be no turning back.
He feared the princess would no longer be able to stay out of it.
He tightened his grip on the sword at his waist and silently disappeared into the night.
No matter what lay ahead, he would always protect her.
Inside the hall, Murong Zhao gently stroked the two swords and raised her eyes toward the direction of the imperial study.
She remembered the words he had said—
"I am waiting to see how vast a world you can carve out."
The corners of her lips curved slightly upward.
Then let him see.
How vast a world she could carve out.