Yunxun Temple
This temple was built deep within the mountains and held little fame, so few pilgrims ever visited. Precisely because of this scarcity of people, the place felt exceptionally ancient, quiet, and secluded. Pale green moss had even claimed the stone steps.
Leaning on Qiu Tong’s hand, Song Xizhi stepped down from the carriage and ascended the stairs.
As far as the eye could see, there were only verdant mountains shrouded in mist; as far as the ear could hear, there was only the chirping of birds. With lush peaks, elegant waters, and the fragrance of flowers, it was truly a magnificent place.
Inside the temple, a young monk was already waiting at the gate. He wore grey cloth robes, and his face still held the innocence of youth.
Upon seeing them, the young monk stepped forward and bowed. “Would the two patrons please follow me? The honored guest has already been waiting here for quite some time.”
Song Xizhi returned the bow. “Please lead the way, Little Master.”
Qiu Tong was somewhat surprised and asked tentatively, “Did Young Lady perhaps arrange to meet another lady today?”
Song Xizhi did not answer.
The two followed the young monk for about ten minutes until he stopped. Blushing and not daring to look them in the eye, he kept his head down and said, “Patrons, the guest is just up ahead.”
Song Xizhi looked toward the distance and saw a small lake, clear enough to see the bottom, where red koi occasionally surfaced to play. In the center of the lake stood a small pavilion. Within it sat a single person. Dressed in black, his back was straight and tall, blending perfectly with the surrounding landscape.
Song Xizhi instructed Qiu Tong: “I will go over alone. You may wander around nearby.” Glancing at the silent monk, he added a cold warning: “This is a sacred Buddhist ground; remember to mind your words and actions.”
Qiu Tong complied.
Song Xizhi wrapped his crimson-and-gold withered plum blossom cloak tightly around himself and walked toward the pavilion.
The path was not long, yet not short either. By the time he reached the pavilion, a cup of hot tea had already been placed on the table, steam rising from it—clearly, it had just been brewed.
Brewing tea is a meticulous art that demands perfect timing. Too early, and the tea grows cold, losing its flavor. Too late, and the guest arrives before the tea is ready, losing all etiquette. To serve a cup of tea at the exact right moment requires not only skill in the craft but, more importantly, a perfect grasp of the other person’s itinerary and timing.
Song Xizhi raised an eyebrow. It seemed Jing Jianhua’s information network was quite efficient.
He picked up the cup and took a sip. “The Crown Prince has excellent skill.”
“I wouldn’t dare claim such a thing. I have merely dabbled in it,” Jing Jianhua replied, beginning to brew a second pot. His long fingers were well-defined, and the entire sequence of movements was as smooth as flowing water, as pleasing to the eye as a performance.
Though the scene was beautiful, Jing Jianhua was clearly not the type to show off his tea skills for no reason. Brewing two pots meant…
Song Xizhi said, “It seems Your Highness has much to say to me.”
“Incorrect. It should be that Miss Song has much to say to me.”
If Song Xizhi hadn’t intentionally lured him in, how could he have discovered clues about The Dark Night so easily? Since it was Song Xizhi who sought him out and initiated this conversation, Jing Jianhua naturally felt he was the one in control. Though his tone was calm, the underlying dominance was unmistakable.
Song Xizhi heard it clearly. He looked up at Jing Jianhua, his peach blossom eyes dancing with a half-smile. “Since Your Highness has already come, why care about such trifles?”
“Furthermore, Your Highness said not long ago that you were fond of me. Is this your current attitude? Hmm?” The end of his sentence was low and lingering, possessing an indescribable allure.
Jing Jianhua unobtrusively moved a bit further away from Song Xizhi, his brow furrowing slightly. Their eyes met.
Song Xizhi gave a mocking laugh.
Slap!
A thick stack of papers was tossed onto the table.
Jing Jianhua picked up one of the sheets, opened it, and read it carefully from beginning to end before tucking all the papers into his sleeve. His gaze turned deep, like the darkest drop of ink blooming in a pool of water. He whispered, “Now, I am truly beginning to be a bit curious about you.”
“Oh? Then you must be careful,” Song Xizhi said nonchalantly, taking a sip of tea. “Those who said that in the past are already dead and turned to ash.”
Hearing this, Jing Jianhua set down his cup and merely smiled, offering no comment. His smile was light, like a breeze passing through the mountains—refreshing and cool. Yet, Song Xizhi detected a sense of indifference in that smile, the kind of detachment that comes from a superior’s absolute sense of control. Like a lion in the jungle, the laziness with which it lies on the ground stems from total confidence in its own power.
“Does Your Highness not believe I can do it?” Song Xizhi rested his chin on his hand, asking with great interest.
When it comes to beautiful people, the public instinctively refuses to believe in their moral depravity, unconsciously adding a halo to them and beautifying them into “perfect” women without flaw. Weak, harmless, and yearning for protection—these are the traits that fit the public’s imagination of a woman. Ruthlessness and cold-bloodedness are excluded from those expectations.
A man is like a hunter; no matter how patient, he expects his efforts to result in capturing his desired prey. The prey can be slightly naughty or willful, but it must never be excessively fierce or harm the hunter—nor can it vanish back into the forest, leaving the hunter empty-handed. When the hunting relationship is reversed, most hunters become panicked, fearful, or even fly into a rage.
Song Xizhi looked forward to how Jing Jianhua would answer.
“I naturally believe Miss Song’s words,” Jing Jianhua smiled. “Even if I didn’t before, I have no choice but to believe now.”
“To be able to obtain these from the Prime Minister’s hand, Miss Song is undoubtedly a clever person. I have never dared to look down on such people.”
Jing Jianhua left the second half of his thought unspoken, but Song Xizhi understood. A clever person can be believed, but a clever person who is ruthless enough to betray their closest kin cannot be trusted. Such a person can only be used. And in Jing Jianhua’s eyes, he was currently exactly that—a tool to be utilized.
Song Xizhi sneered. “I once heard a saying: ‘Only a dead man’s mouth is truly reliable.’ Your Highness trusts me so much; could it be that in your eyes, I am already a dead person?”
Jing Jianhua shook his head with a laugh. “No. A partner.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” Song Xizhi waved his hand. He was afraid of being sold out if he partnered with someone like this. He took a sip of tea to moisten his throat and continued, “However, one thing is certain: we are at least not opponents.”
“I do not quite understand. Please enlighten me, Miss Song.”
“In the face of a common goal, we will always be each other’s most reliable allies.”
As for what that goal was… the two shared a look, and everything was understood without words. No matter what, they were traveling the same path.
“Do not forget your promise,” Song Xizhi said pointedly.
“Of course. Should I ascend the throne in the future, the Empress shall only ever be Song Xialan.”
Hearing the satisfactory answer, Song Xizhi set down his tea cup and rose to take his leave. “I am in poor health and cannot stay in the wind for long. Since we have reached an agreement, I shall depart first.”
The spring breeze was slightly chilly. Song Xizhi pulled his cloak tighter. Just as he stepped onto the stairs of the pavilion, a voice drifted from behind him.
“You have gone to such painstaking lengths. If the Second Miss Song knew, she would surely be very moved.”
Song Xialan… Song Xizhi’s footsteps paused. His fingers loosened slightly. After a long silence, he let out a soft sigh. “Whether I tell her or not is my business. Why should Your Highness interfere?”
With that, Song Xizhi stayed no longer and walked away with a firm stride.
Watching his receding back, Jing Jianhua set down his cup and sighed with a tone of weary realization: “Sisters… brothers… truly a tangled web that cannot be severed.”