Wang Yixi kept patting her shoulder. “Mingzhi? …Mingzhi? Are you alright?”
Everything before her eyes finally came to a stop. Her hands trembled uncontrollably. She suddenly realized that in the fragment of memory she had lost, something far beyond what she could bear had happened.
She looked toward the stage. Madam Xuanwu smiled, her lips tinted like vermilion, exuding an inexplicable charm. One leg was folded as she rested the zither upon it, beginning her performance.
Her ten fingers moved gracefully across the strings, weaving through them like silk. A piece titled Autumn Waters Treading the Moon painted a vivid scene through sound. Rippling water shimmered, the moon reflected upon it, its image swaying gently with the waves. Beneath the delicate emotions lay layers of tender melancholy.
Yet Pei Nai could not recover from her daze and had no heart to appreciate it.
“What’s wrong with your head?”
Pei Nai waved her hand. “It’s nothing. I just had a migraine earlier. It’s better now.”
“That’s good. My mother says Madam Xuanwu looks very much like the late Lady Yingwu. I was still young when Lady Yingwu passed away and don’t remember her appearance, but from what I see, aside from her looks, there’s nothing alike. In terms of presence alone, Lady Yingwu far surpassed her. Otherwise, how could she have stayed by the Duke Ding’an’s side for so many years without even a title?” Yixi commented with displeasure.
Pei Nai was still pondering the reason behind all this and barely registered Yixi’s words.
Yixi sensed something off and turned back. “Mingzhi, don’t you think what I said makes sense?”
“Huh? Yes… it does,” Pei Nai replied instinctively.
Yixi studied her expression and assumed she had been mesmerized by Madam Xuanwu’s beauty. “Don’t be like that. She’s not even exceptionally beautiful, just resembles Lady Yingwu a bit. I know a few top-tier beauties—no worse than those sent into the palace. I’ll introduce you to them sometime. Or is your headache not fully gone yet?”
Pei Nai shook her head. “It’s gone. I’m just a bit tired and want to rest.”
“I see… I was hoping to invite you to my home for tea after this,” Yixi said regretfully.
When the piece ended, Madam Xuanwu lifted the zither from her lap and bowed midair.
Three red cords slowly lowered her down. The moment she landed, all the red silks fell with her, spreading across the ground like a long crimson carpet.
“Thank you all esteemed guests for coming. Your presence brings great honor to Mingyue Pavilion. This is the third year since its reopening after renovations. It is because of your support that Mingyue Pavilion has become what it is today…” Madam Xuanwu spoke on stage.
Because of everyone’s support… or rather, because of Gu Jinheng’s support.
Pei Nai felt a surge of bitterness but refused to show it. She slowly averted her gaze, suppressing the sharpness in her eyes.
She had seen Madam Xuanwu, and the sky had already darkened. It was time to go home.
She declined Yixi’s invitation. After agreeing on a time and place for their next meeting, the two parted ways in front of Mingyue Pavilion.
Before long, the night grew deep, with a sparse scattering of stars. When Pei Nai returned to the Ju residence, she happened to encounter its master, Ju Yan, who was about to board a carriage.
Knowing she was merely an insignificant distant relative at the moment, she simply greeted him briefly.
Ju Yan nodded and said, “Chaoyang hasn’t been very peaceful lately. Try not to go out at night.”
Pei Nai paused. He must be referring to the recent assassination cases involving officials. It was said the killer was ruthless, leaving victims in horrific states. Though she wasn’t afraid, she still replied, “…Understood.”
Ju Yan looked her over, as if thinking about something, then stepped into the carriage and urged the driver to leave.
……
The night grew ever more tranquil.
Across the capital, pavilions and halls were still lit, their lights gathering like a river of stars—flowers in the morning, moon in the evening.
After learning from the servants that the Duke Ding’an was at the highest rooftop of the residence, Ju Yan climbed up by ladder.
When he arrived, the Duke sat upon the eaves, gazing blankly at the distant sea of lights. Wine cups and jars were scattered around him, many already spilled, dripping downward. The entire rooftop reeked of alcohol.
Ten years ago, after Ji Wei and Jiang Wentao were executed, Ju Yan became the one who had followed the Duke the longest.
He knew that earlier that day, the Duke had argued with the Emperor over the deployment of troops to Qingzhou after the earthquake. The Emperor had refused to yield. The two had long been at odds, and the civil and military officials present had stood by in silence, afraid of being implicated.
Ju Yan felt it was unfair to his master. It was the Duke who had supported the young Emperor step by step since his ascension. Yet as the Emperor grew more mature and decisive, becoming a wise ruler, he also began to fear the overwhelming power of his grand-uncle.
The group of officials personally cultivated by the Emperor had been acting more and more frequently lately. The Duke was aware of it all, yet had done nothing.
Ju Yan also understood—the Duke was testing the Emperor. He was waiting to see whether the Emperor’s trusted aides were reliable, whether he had truly grown into his role, and whether his decisions had become steady and skillful.
In silence, the Duke was judging whether his nephew could break free from his influence and truly become a great ruler.
Ju Yan knew he should not disturb his master in such a state, but the matter at hand was urgent and required a decision. After weighing it carefully, he still stepped forward.
The Duke lifted another jar of wine and poured it straight into his throat. The liquid ran down his chin and neck. Gone was his usual nobility and elegance—replaced by a rough boldness, and something… indescribably desolate.
“My Lord?” Ju Yan called out.
The Duke had long heard him arrive but chose to ignore it.
Ju Yan sighed, knelt down, and tried to persuade him. “Please stop drinking. If Madam were watching from the heavens, how heartbroken she would be to see you like this.”
A sudden fluctuation rippled through the air. The tiles on the roof trembled violently.
Ju Yan knew—this was a sign of his master’s shifting emotions.
The Duke glanced at him faintly, clearly having heard his words. He gave a faint, self-mocking smile, tinged with sorrow. “Ju Yan, do you know? She did it on purpose. In the Battle of Yagu Valley, if she had truly wanted to live, with her abilities, she wouldn’t have died. Those sacrifices that could have been avoided… were simply her way of refusing to see me.”
Ju Yan felt a pang in his chest. Looking at the Duke, he realized that once love transcends life and death, it turns into an obsession—something that cannot be persuaded against, nor spoken away.
Sometimes he wondered—what kind of grief must it be for someone to remain unforgettable even after ten years?
Impossible to forget. Impossible to quit. Impossible to change.
The Duke let out a self-deprecating laugh, hidden pain lingering in his eyes. “People say she dared to love and hate. She deserved those words. Her love was intense… but even her hatred was just as absolute.”
He continued gazing into the distance. Ju Yan dared not speak further and simply waited at his side, knowing he could only report his matter when the Duke chose to ask.
In the silent night, beneath the hazy moonlight, Ju Yan suddenly thought of a line—
In this world of endless waxing and waning, of joys and sorrows, there will always be someone watching the lights of countless households, reminded that they have lost their own warmth. Life is but a cycle of joy and grief—death takes away happiness, leaving only the living to mourn.