Qiuyue stood on the side watching, and her heart suddenly felt a bit sour. The Empress was such a good person; she was gentle, virtuous, fond of reading, and had no desire to compete.
She thought of the Emperor in everything, wishing only that he would not be troubled by matters of the harem.
But the Emperor, it seemed as though the Emperor had never truly seen the Empress in his eyes.
From the time she was the Crown Princess to becoming the Empress, over all these years, the number of times the Emperor had stepped foot in her quarters could be counted on one hand.
“Your Majesty,” Qiuyue whispered, “do you not wish for the Emperor to come visit you more often?”
Lin Qingwan looked up at her and smiled. “What good would wishing do? The Emperor does not have me in his heart, and I cannot force him.”
She spoke calmly, and her eyes were just as still and waveless. Yet, when she suddenly thought of something, her expression shifted slightly.
Soon, she lowered her head and returned to her book, as if that brief flicker of emotion had never existed.
Qiuyue did not dare to say more and quietly retreated.
In the Linhua Palace, Yun Biechen was sitting by the window practicing calligraphy.
Yan Linyuan had come again today and had even brought his memorials with him. He sat behind the writing desk reviewing them, while Yun Biechen had set up a table opposite him, spreading out Xuan paper and grinding ink at a leisurely pace.
Once the ink was ground, he lifted the brush, dipped it, and touched it to the paper. He was writing the character for “Plum.”
He wrote with an air of ease, his wrist suspended, the brush tip moving lightly across the paper. The resulting characters, however, were bold and expansive, with a sense of languor in the brushstrokes that mirrored his own nature.
Yan Linyuan finished reviewing a memorial and looked up at him. After a while, he suddenly asked, “What are you writing?”
“Characters,” Yun Biechen replied without looking up. He felt that Yan Linyuan was asking something he already knew.
“I see that,” Yan Linyuan stood up, walked over, and stood behind him to watch. On the Xuan paper, several characters had already been written: Plum, Snow, Moon, and Wind.
The calligraphy was well-done, but the content lacked a systematic theme, appearing as though he simply wrote whatever came to mind.
“What made you think of practicing calligraphy?” Yan Linyuan asked.
“Boredom,” Yun Biechen finished writing the character for “Leisure,” then set down his brush. “I have slept enough and finished my books, so I decided to write.”
Yan Linyuan laughed. “That is indeed a good way to pass the time.”
He picked up the sheet of paper, examined it, and set it back down. “On the day of the palace banquet, will you write a few characters as well?”
Yun Biechen looked up at him. “Write what?”
“Anything,” Yan Linyuan said. “Whatever you wish to write.”
Yun Biechen thought for a moment and shook his head. “I will not write.”
“Why?”
“It is tiring. I do not want to,” Yun Biechen said. “There are too many people, and it is noisy.”
Yan Linyuan stared at him for a moment, then suddenly reached out and stroked his hair. “Then do not write. You only need to make an appearance; you may leave whenever you wish.”
Yun Biechen gave an “um,” picked up his brush again, and wrote the character for “Quiet.”
Yan Linyuan stood behind him, watching him write. Yun Biechen’s hair was very soft, ink-black like silk, with a few strands hanging by the side of his neck, making his skin appear even whiter.
He suddenly remembered the day on the pavilion roof, where Yun Biechen had been lying on his side just like this, ink-black hair cascading down, white plum blossoms falling onto him.
It was like a painting.
“Yun Biechen,” Yan Linyuan called out in a low voice.
“Yes?”
“On the day of the palace banquet,” Yan Linyuan paused, “Consort Li might cause you trouble.”
Yun Biechen’s brush paused, and a drop of ink bloomed into a small blot on the paper. He looked at the ink spot and simply added a few more strokes to turn it into a plum blossom.
“She knows,” he said.
“Knows what?”
“Knows that I do not care,” Yun Biechen set down the brush. “That will only make her angrier.”
Yan Linyuan was silent for a moment. “Are you not afraid of what she might do to you?”
Consort Li was the legitimate daughter of the Vice Minister of the Ministry of Revenue, and he could not move against her just yet.
“Afraid of what?” Yun Biechen looked up at him. “Can she kill me?”
Yan Linyuan’s expression darkened. “She would not dare.”
“Then there is nothing to fear,” Yun Biechen said. “At most, she will say some unpleasant things, and I will simply ignore her.”
He spoke with such understatement that it made Yan Linyuan’s heart tighten. He reached out and gripped Yun Biechen’s wrist, his pressure slightly heavy. “If she truly dares to do anything, I will not let her off.”
No one was allowed to touch what belonged to him.
Yun Biechen looked at him, his glass-like eyes devoid of emotion. After a while, he said, “It hurts a little.”
Yan Linyuan let go. A ring of red marks had already formed on Yun Biechen’s wrist, looking particularly stark against his snow-white skin.
“My fault,” Yan Linyuan muttered as he opened his mouth, offering an apology.
Yun Biechen rubbed his wrist and did not speak. He picked up his brush again, dipped it in ink, and wrote the character for “Peace” on the paper.
The brushstrokes were steady and powerful.
Yan Linyuan looked at the character and suddenly felt a spot in his heart being lightly pricked. He took a deep breath, turned around, and walked back to the desk, picking up the memorials once more.
The hall fell silent again.
Yun Biechen continued to practice calligraphy, and Yan Linyuan continued reviewing documents. The two went about their own tasks, neither disturbing the other, yet there was a strange harmony between them.
Wang Sheng guarded the outer room, occasionally peeking in before quietly retreating.
He felt uncomfortable in his heart. How could the Emperor be like this? The Young Master was clearly not pleased; how could he grab the Young Master’s hand?
But in the end, the Young Master was only a male concubine in this harem, and the Emperor was, ultimately, the Emperor.
How much longer could the days in this deep palace remain peaceful?
In the early evening, Yan Linyuan finished reviewing the memorials. He stood up to stretch his shoulders and walked to Yun Biechen’s side.
Yun Biechen had already filled a sheet of paper and was staring blankly at the characters. Yan Linyuan glanced at it; the paper was covered in “Plum,” “Snow,” “Moon,” “Wind,” “Leisure,” “Quiet,” “Peace.” They were all single characters, disconnected, yet possessing an indescribable charm.
“Finished?” Yan Linyuan asked.
“Um,” Yun Biechen set down the brush. “I am tired.”
“Then rest for a while,” Yan Linyuan sat opposite him. “What would you like for dinner?”
“Something spicy.”
“Very well,” Yan Linyuan smiled. “I will have someone prepare it.”
He called for Wang Shunde and gave a few instructions. Wang Shunde went to fulfill the order, and before long, the Imperial Kitchen delivered dinner.
It was still mostly spicy dishes. Yan Linyuan had specially asked them to add a hot and sour soup, saying it would stimulate the appetite. Yun Biechen drank two bowls of soup and ate half a plate of spicy chicken before setting down his chopsticks.
“Full?” Yan Linyuan asked.
“Full.” Yun Biechen wiped his mouth. “And you?”
“I am full as well.”
The two sat and talked for a while. It was mostly Yan Linyuan speaking, while Yun Biechen listened. He talked about affairs of the court: which official had submitted a memorial urging him to take a consort, which general had requested to lead an army, and where a disaster had occurred.
Yun Biechen had little interest in such matters, occasionally letting out an “um” to indicate he was listening.
Toward the end, Yan Linyuan suddenly asked, “Yun Biechen, do you think I am a good Emperor?”
Yun Biechen looked up at him and thought for a moment. “Do you think you are?”
“I believe I am.”
“I do not understand court politics,” Yun Biechen said. “But if you say you are, then be a good Emperor.”
Yan Linyuan stared at him for a long time before suddenly laughing.
He stood up. “I must go. Rest early.”
Yun Biechen gave an “um.”
Yan Linyuan walked to the door and looked back. “On the day of the palace banquet, I will have someone come to fetch you.”
“Very well.”