Wang Sheng felt the heart that had been stuck in his throat drop halfway down, almost crying out with relief. He hurriedly stepped forward to place the bronze basin on the low table, wrung out a hot towel, and offered it with both hands. “Young Master, please wipe your face to freshen up.”
Yun Biechen took the warm towel and draped it over his face, holding it there for a long moment.
The rising steam dissipated the cloudiness in his mind. He wiped his face and hands slowly before tossing the towel back into the basin.
Wang Sheng quickly handed him salt and clear water to rinse his mouth.
Once finished, Yun Biechen was fully awake. Although a heavy, low-pressure aura still lingered around him, he was at least willing to cooperate.
“Change my clothes,” he said flatly, walking toward the screen.
Feeling as if he had been granted a reprieve, Wang Sheng called out to the outer room. Chunying and Xiaque, who had been waiting, immediately entered with large trays containing several sets of new garments delivered earlier that day.
There were robes in moon-white with cloud patterns, pale green with bamboo leaf motifs, ivory-colored plain silk, and a set in jade-tone embroidered with silver cloud patterns. Each piece was made from exquisite fabric with delicate craftsmanship, shimmering softly under the lamplight. They had been rushed by the Imperial Wardrobe Bureau specifically for tonight’s palace banquet at the Emperor’s command.
Wang Shunde had sent them over earlier, but the Young Master had not even glanced at them until now.
“Young Master, take a look. Which set do you like?” Wang Sheng pointed enthusiastically. “This moon-white one is elegant, the pale green one is refreshing, and this jade-colored one is noble.”
Yun Biechen’s gaze swept past those light and elegant colors, finally settling on a black robe at the very bottom of the tray, hidden beneath the other extravagant garments.
The robe was made of ordinary satin with a subtle, dark pattern. Its color was pure, deep black without any embroidery. Only the collar, cuffs, and edges of the lapels were lined with an extremely fine silver thread. The style was the simplest straight-cut, making it look completely out of place and even somewhat shabby among the pile of meticulously crafted luxury garments.
“That one,” Yun Biechen pointed with his finger.
Wang Sheng looked where he pointed and was stunned. “Young Master, that piece. That was not sent by the Imperial Wardrobe Bureau. It seems to be an old garment that got mixed in when we were clearing out the storage. The fabric is ordinary, and the color is too somber. To wear it to a palace banquet, I fear it might not be appropriate.”
He winked frantically, hoping Yun Biechen would choose something bright and vibrant, so that he would not be outshone by the concubines or looked down upon by the ministers.
“That one,” Yun Biechen repeated, his tone devoid of inflection yet unquestionable.
Wang Sheng opened his mouth, wanting to persuade him further, but meeting Yun Biechen’s clear, emotionless eyes, he swallowed his words.
He sighed helplessly, gesturing for Chunying to take the other clothes away, leaving only the black robe.
Xiaque stepped forward with Chunying, carefully assisting Yun Biechen in putting on the garment.
The robe was indeed ordinary and hung somewhat loosely, making his frame appear even more slender. However, the pure black color was like an impenetrable night, causing his already fair skin to look almost translucent, a breathtaking, pale white.
His ink-black hair draped over the black robe, the boundary between them distinct, yet strangely blending into a whole of cold, solitary elegance.
Wang Sheng’s original worries began to dissipate as he watched Yun Biechen in that attire.
Although lacking the opulence of silk and satin, the Young Master possessed an indescribable quality in this outfit. He did not look like a concubine attending a banquet, but rather like an otherworldly guest who had stumbled into the human realm, indifferent to all the prosperity and clamor around him.
Once dressed, Wang Sheng picked up a smooth rhinoceros horn comb and asked tentatively, “Young Master, for today’s banquet, shall I tie your hair up? I can style it nicely for you.”
When at home, Yun Biechen either tied his hair loosely with a ribbon or left it flowing, whichever was comfortable.
Hearing he had to tie it up, he frowned imperceptibly, clearly finding it troublesome. But thinking of the crowded and noisy event, leaving it unkempt was indeed inappropriate. He thought for a moment and gave a slight nod. “Um.”
Wang Sheng breathed a genuine sigh of relief, standing behind him to begin combing.
The Young Master’s hair was exceptional, ink-black like the finest silk, cool and smooth in his hands, with almost no tangles.
Wang Sheng combed slowly and carefully, gathering part of the hair behind his head and securing it firmly with a simple, undecorated celadon jade hairpin, styling it into a neat, clean bun.
He did not pull it too tight, leaving a few shorter strands to hang naturally by his temples and the back of his neck, which softened the formality of the tied hair.
Once finished, Wang Sheng retrieved a polished bronze mirror and held it up to Yun Biechen. “Young Master, look. Are you satisfied?”
Yun Biechen looked into the mirror. The person reflected had brows like distant, penciled mountains and eyes like starlit cold pools, with a straight nose bridge and pale lips.
Black robes, ink-black hair, and a cold jade pin; it was the simplest of attire, yet it seemed to wash away all vanity, leaving only the most authentic, stunning beauty and a sense of detachment from the world.
He watched for a while with no expression on his face, simply raising his hand to lightly touch the cold, smooth jade pin.
“Is it done?” he asked, his tone revealing a trace of subtle impatience, as if completing a tedious task.
“Done, yes, just about done!” Wang Sheng quickly put down the bronze mirror and turned to take a cloak from Xiaque—black cloud-brocade with a white fox-fur lining.
Yan Linyuan had specially ordered the Imperial Wardrobe Bureau to rush this cloak a few days ago, using the finest materials. It was light and warm, and the fur was fluffy and snow-white.
Several were made, and this black one matched the Young Master’s outfit perfectly.
“Young Master, the snow outside has not stopped. It is very cold, so please put on this cloak,” Wang Sheng said while shaking out the cloak, carefully draping it over Yun Biechen’s shoulders and tying the ribbons at his neck.
The pure white fur surrounded his beautifully defined jawline, making his face appear carved from ice and snow.
Yun Biechen did not refuse, letting Wang Sheng do as he pleased. After putting on the cloak, the cold, untouchable air around him seemed to be softened by the white fur, though the detachment in his eyes remained.
“Let us go,” he finally uttered, stepping out toward the hall entrance. His stride was not long or fast, still carrying that lazy, sleepy aura as he stepped silently across the thick carpet.
Wang Sheng hurriedly lifted a windproof glass palace lantern he had prepared and jogged forward to lead the way.
Chunying and Xiaque stopped at the door, as palace rules forbade them from following to the outer court banquet.
The master and servant stepped out from the warm, bright threshold of the Linhua Palace.
Outside, the world was pitch black, with only the palace lanterns hanging in the corridors swaying in the wind and snow, casting flickering and unstable shadows.
The snow was indeed still falling, thicker than it had been at dusk. It was no longer fine powder but large flakes, falling softly and silently covering the glazed tiles of the palace, the white marble railings, and the stone path that had been swept clean but was already accumulating a thin layer of fresh snow. The cold air rushed toward them, penetrating the thick cloak and making his skin tighten.
Wang Sheng raised the glass lantern higher, its dim, warm glow barely illuminating the path a few steps ahead. He led the way carefully, unable to resist glancing back at Yun Biechen from time to time.
Yun Biechen followed behind, his pace steady. Snowflakes landed on his ink-black hair, his straight shoulders, and the snow-white fur collar, quickly melting into tiny, shimmering water droplets.
He tilted his face slightly, gazing at the endless darkness ahead and the swirling snow. His profile appeared exceptionally clear and lonely in the lamplight and snow, and those eyes, usually half-closed in sleepiness, were wide open, holding emotions that others could not perceive.
When they reached the middle of the alley connecting the outer court and the inner harem, Yun Biechen stopped without warning.
Wang Sheng walked a few steps before realizing, rushing back with the lantern, looking at him with anxiety and confusion. “Young Master? What is wrong? Did you forget something? Or…” He was worried that the Young Master had changed his mind.
Yun Biechen said nothing, simply standing still, his gaze piercing through the wind and snow toward the end of the alley.
There, the majestic outline of the Linde Hall was vaguely visible. Countless lanterns shone from the high windows, turning the sky a reddish hue, creating a stark contrast to the darkness and silence here.
Even from such a distance, one could imagine the warmth, the noise, the bustling figures, and the sound of flutes and strings inside.
He watched for a long time, so long that when Wang Sheng was about to urge him on, Yun Biechen finally whispered two words, almost inaudibly:
“Too noisy.”
The voice was very soft, dissipating into the wind and snow, and Wang Sheng almost thought he had misheard.
But before he could ponder the meaning of these words, Yun Biechen withdrew his gaze, lifted his feet, and continued walking.
His pace was still not fast, yet it was steadier than before, as if the brief pause had merely been due to the wind and snow obstructing his view.
Wang Sheng froze for a moment before hurriedly lifting the lantern to follow. The glow of the glass lantern swayed on the snow, illuminating two lines of shallow footprints that were quickly covered by the fresh snow.