The capital city was adorned with lanterns and streamers to welcome the new winter, and to celebrate the departure of the Princes to their respective fiefs. On this particular day, the dusk was like a maiden behind her curtained bed, hesitant and slow in shedding her garments. A middle-aged man, dressed in luxurious robes, stepped down from his carriage and slowly walked into a restaurant, his feet treading on the lingering glow of the setting sun. Inside, not a single self-proclaimed gourmet dared to enter, all kept at bay by a wooden sign hanging at the entrance that read “No Guests Today.” They arrived with high hopes, only to leave in disappointment. However, everyone in the capital was well aware that the owner of Jiujiu Restaurant had a temper fiercer than that of nobility, and so they took it in stride. Around the same time as the man’s arrival, other diners who had come down the street saw someone actually entering the building and tried to follow in hopes of luck. But they were blocked by several retainers, hands resting on the hilts of their swords. When they caught sight of the golden silk wrapped around the scabbards, they were so frightened that they dared not utter a word and quickly retreated, murmuring their apologies.
The charming young widow surnamed Hong gracefully lifted the curtain, revealing a bubbling hotpot of sliced mutton already steaming. She merely placed some secret recipe dipping sauces on the table. The man raised his left hand slightly, motioning for the woman to sit. Then he picked up a piece of lamb rump with his chopsticks and dipped it into the pot. He left it there for quite a while without retrieving it. The woman, who had not yet sat down, struggled to suppress her anger and spoke in a calm tone: “Don’t ruin the meat.”
At her words, the man withdrew the chopsticks, then slowly dipped the meat into various delicate sauces before finally putting it into his mouth. He nodded in approval—it truly had a unique flavor. He continued chewing on the most authentic sliced mutton of the capital, but did not speak. The woman remained standing, her face expressionless.
After finishing the tender rump meat, which looked enticing even in texture, the man finally set down his chopsticks and looked up. “Hong Chou,” he said at last, “have you ever considered that in today’s world, every commoner in every corner of the Yangli Empire that is governed by imperial decrees has benefited from Xun Ping? All of this is due to his death, to My failure to rescue him back then, and to My subsequent guilt since ascending the throne.”
The woman, addressed directly by the Son of Heaven, sneered coldly. “Hong Chou is just a woman with long hair and short sight, unable to see the big picture. All I know is that when a man is lost, one can only blame the bastards who killed him. The only reason I didn’t throw a few pounds of arsenic into the pot today is because I know it wouldn’t kill you.”
The Emperor withdrew his gaze. The steam carried a fragrance that was pleasant but not overwhelming. After a long day, those dozen or so bites felt warm and comforting to his stomach. He paid no heed to the woman’s angry words and resentment, speaking softly instead: “When Dong King Zhao Sui spoke to him for a few words, I stripped him of all military power.”
The woman laughed bitterly. “You are the Son of Heaven—what is there that you dare not do?”
The Emperor smiled lightly. “You overestimate Me. There are many things in the world that even I cannot do. For example, I dare not touch Xu Xiao. Even when Xu Xiao’s son comes right before My eyes, I still have to endure it.”
She sneered again. “A man sitting on the Dragon Throne, daring to scheme against a mere child?”
The Emperor waved away the rising steam and turned his head slightly. “When I was a child, I also had to live in fear and tread carefully. The scholars and refined men of Tai’an City often complain about how hard it is to live in the capital. I always found it amusing, because the only place in the world truly hard to live in is the Imperial Palace itself. The ministers worry about whether they live well or not, but in the palace, we worry about whether we can live at all. Before My ascension, I told Myself that My children would never have to live as I did. But once I became Emperor, I realized that human ability has limits. Though the Son of Heaven may be a Son of Heaven, he is still a mortal, not exempt from the burdens of life. Every family has its own troubles, and I am the head of the household. Xu Xiao is one, and you, Hong Chou, are half of one. Running this restaurant, I’m sure you have many frustrations. For example, you work diligently to procure the finest lamb, the best broth, and the best seasonings, believing your prices are fair, thinking you offer value for money. Yet, after customers have eaten enough, they’ll say your hotpot is nothing special, and behind your back, they’ll curse you for being greedy. Or worse, when the roads leading to Tai’an face disruptions, causing you to run out of supplies and forcing you to close, they’ll curse you for being untrustworthy—why should your Jiujiu Restaurant act like a noble lord while others remain open every day? They’ll surely mutter some bitter words. To put yourself in another’s shoes is the heart of a Buddha. The principle is sound, but precisely because it is easy to say and hard to follow, it becomes precious. And precisely because such truths are so piercing, many people refuse to hear them. Only after becoming Emperor and reading through years of remonstrations—more than the snowfall on the first day of winter—did I come to truly understand this.”
The Emperor did not turn to look at the woman’s expression, continuing instead: “Empress Zhao Zhi has few women close to her, and she knows you resent her past actions. I came today not for any other reason, only to convey her message to you—that she knows she was wrong. But if she had to do it again, she would still make the same choice. Yet, in her heart, she still feels the same pain that I feel when I know I’ve done wrong. She does not take it lightly. I say this not to ask you to forgive Zhao Zhi and return to the way you once were. These years, in the palace, she still uses the mirror you gave her back then. She remembers clearly—it cost eight taels of silver.”
The Emperor, renowned for his diligence, frugality, and skill in maintaining the empire, stood up and walked toward the threshold. He paused with a faint smile. “I must admit one thing—I envy Xu Xiao. He was once able to sit shoulder to shoulder with My father, sharing words like old friends. Even on his deathbed, My father did not forget to leave a will: Xu Xiao must be killed early. One reason was to ensure the stability of the court; the second was so that he could meet Xu Xiao again soon in the underworld. If there truly is a realm of Yama, they could continue their conquests together. With Xu Xiao by his side, he could mock the King of Hell himself. But if Xu Xiao’s son were to grow up, he must be treated kindly. Unfortunately, of the two final wishes of that old man, I, his son, failed to fulfill either.”
Stepping out of the restaurant, the Emperor did not immediately return to his carriage. Instead, he walked slowly along the frozen riverbank, the wind biting through his robes. On the icy surface of the river, many mischievous children ignored their parents’ warnings and were drilling holes to catch fish. The imperial guards dared not approach too closely, keeping a respectful distance. Only Liu Haoshi walked five paces behind the Emperor.
The Emperor spoke casually, “Master Liu, all the promising young members of the Liu clan have already been sent to the capital. There is no need for concern.”
Since he had been honored with the title of Master, the elderly Heaven-seeing expert did not go through any formalities to express gratitude. He simply grunted deeply.
The Emperor paused by the riverbank, cupping his hands and blowing warm breath into them, murmuring to himself, “Xu Xiao, if your son dies before you, I shall grant you a posthumous title of unmatched honor. But if you die before him, and he is guilty of slaughtering the innocent, I shall give you a disgraceful title that you truly deserve.”
※※※
The grass is withered, the eagle’s eyes are sharp;
The snow has gone, the horse’s hooves are light.
Two carriages sped swiftly southward along the Posthouseroad, while above, a divine Qingbai Luanyuan pierced the clouds in the sky.
They were heading to the Shangyin Academy. The time had ripened, and if they delayed any longer, the moment would pass. Xu Fengnian was determined to build another Guangling Spring Snow Pavilion within the Wutong Courtyard. Though it could still function without her, managing it alone made him realize the true cost of running a household. Moreover, Xu Fengnian did not wish for the woman who loved to hold white cats to be looked down upon at the Shangyin Academy.
At this moment, Xu Fengnian and Qingniao were seated back to back inside the carriages, admiring the passing scenery. The young assassin Wu, still a boy at heart, rode swiftly, and the two carriages galloped side by side on the wide Posthouseroad. Though Qingniao usually gave the impression of being cold and aloof, once she accepted someone, her kindness ran deep. She made a hand signal to the boy, and Wu grinned, leaping from his horse to switch carriages with her. Xu Fengnian shifted slightly, sitting sideways behind the boy.
Wu hesitated for a moment, his whip wavering in his hand. Xu Fengnian chuckled, “If you have something to say, just say it.”
The young boy, who had no name of his own, spoke softly, “Master, I really don’t like that woman in the purple robe inside the carriage. I truly despise her.”
Xu Fengnian asked curiously, “Why?”
Wu, known for his straightforwardness, once he started speaking, poured out his thoughts like spilled beans: “Who is she, anyway? Just some petty bandit girl from a small mountain stronghold. Why does she dare to glare at you and act so arrogantly? If it were me, I’d have kicked her off the carriage long ago. She doesn’t know how lucky she is. Even if she’s doing business with you, she’s the one gaining the most benefit. Yet here she is, acting like she’s someone of great importance, as if she were the Empress herself. Master, if you ask me, you shouldn’t spoil women like this. Besides, she’s not even that beautiful. I’ve taken a few peeks, and I don’t see anything special—no big butt, no big chest. Her face is decent, sure, but you, Master, are a towering figure, someone who dares to kill the Emperor’s son. Tell me, isn’t that right?”
Xu Fengnian burst into laughter. “Who taught you how to flatter? You’re terrible at it.”
Wu turned his head, his face full of grievance. “Master, I’m being serious!”
Xu Fengnian’s laughter faded, his eyes narrowing as he gazed into the distance. Unfortunately, it wasn’t snowing, so he couldn’t see the beauty of snowflakes as large as hands. He smiled faintly. “Actually, it’s not just you. No one really likes a woman like her.”
Wu cracked his whip in agreement. “Exactly! So why do you always give in to her? Don’t tell me you actually like her? If that’s the case, then I have to say, Master, this time you’ve made a mistake. It’s not worth it!”
Xu Fengnian, not afraid of being overheard by the woman inside the carriage, leaned his head against the wall. “Before last year, there weren’t many people in the world who liked me either. You could say we’re kindred spirits.”
Wu looked puzzled. He understood that his Master had said something meaningful, but he couldn’t quite grasp it. He simply muttered an “Oh,” reluctantly accepting the explanation.
Xu Fengnian joked, “Many things and people are like a woman carrying a child for ten months—you have to wait patiently. You can’t rush it.”
Wu grinned. “Then if Master gets that woman pregnant and just walks away, that’ll teach her a lesson.”
Xu Fengnian tapped the boy’s head with the hilt of his Northern Liang saber. “You’ve got a death wish. She’s a martial cultivator at the Fingers Pointing the Way to Heaven realm.”
Xu Fengnian was somewhat puzzled that the mistress of Huishan, sitting inside the carriage, had unusually not shown any anger—not even a single word spoken.
Inside the carriage, the woman in purple gazed at herself in the mirror, silent as still water.
Like the sound of ice-cold water flowing beneath.
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