Chapter 7 — Ten Years in the Palace

He stepped into the inner chamber. On the dressing table, there were no superfluous trinkets. In the wardrobe, several everyday garments were missing. Yan Zhi pulled out the wooden box located at the very bottom, and an old piece of paper fluttered down. Lowering his head, Yan Zhi saw only a single line of text written upon it.

A letter of severance.

A date was inscribed in the corner, marking the exact day news of Xie Lin's death in battle had reached the Northern Frontier. Yan Zhi's fingertips stiffened. That very day, he had remained in the imperial study, laughing for a long time. It was also that same night when Qing brought in tea, pausing at the threshold to catch the sound of his laughter. She had asked no questions, merely setting the tea down and saying softly, "Your Majesty, please rest early." It turns out that from that very moment, she had already resolved to leave. Yan Zhi abruptly gripped the letter of severance, tearing the sheet into fragments that drifted across the floor. He hated her. He hated that after a decade by his side, Xie Lin still lingered within her heart. Yet no sooner did the hatred surge than it recoiled like a dagger piercing him in reverse. Was he not cut from the same cloth? Night after night, he had abandoned the palace to seek Yun Zhi, leaving Qing to keep vigil over the hollow expanse of the Hall of the Phoenix. Yan Zhi staggered a step, steadying himself against the table. Yun Zhi's child had ultimately not been saved. When the imperial physician arrived to report the news, Yan Zhi had been sitting within the Hall of the Phoenix, the scattered paper fragments still blanketing the floor. Upon hearing the report, he had merely replied with chilling indifference: "I know." After regaining consciousness, Yun Zhi had nearly lost her mind. Charging toward the palace gates, she knelt outside the imperial study, weeping through the entire night.

"Yan Zhi, you are the one who killed him."

"If you had returned sooner, he would not have perished!"

Listening to her weeping from behind the closed doors, Yan Zhi suddenly felt the utter absurdity of it all. In the past, whenever she cried, he felt as though the entire realm was indebted to her. Now, hearing those same tears, he felt only a dull ringing in his ears. The following day, Yun Zhi smashed the furnishings of the secluded manor, donned men's attire, and stole a horse to flee the capital. She declared she would no longer suffer imprisonment, that she longed to return to the pugilistic world of martial heroes, to live freely and exact vengeance as she pleased. When word reached Yan Zhi, he asked only a single question: "How many people accompanied her?" The imperial guard replied in a low voice: "The Noble Consort did not permit anyone to follow." Yan Zhi was silent for a moment.

"Let her be."

She had endlessly complained that the palace walls confined her. Very well, let her go and discover whether the world beyond those walls truly resembled the romanticized martial realm of her imagination. Three days later, Yun Zhi was carried back. Outside the city walls in a tea house, she had crossed paths with an old enemy. Recognizing her as the daughter of the Shen family and knowing of her former imperial favor, the adversary deliberately provoked her. How could Yun Zhi endure such a slight? Right on the spot, she drew her whip to strike. Yet having recently suffered a miscarriage, she was hardly steady even in the saddle, and ultimately took a blade to the shoulder that nearly pierced her lung. By the time Yan Zhi arrived, she was drenched in blood yet still hurling curses.

"Why did you not stop me?"

"You knew full well that my health was frail, and that enemies lurked outside!"

Yan Zhi gazed down at her.

"Did you not declare that you despised nothing more than others interfering with your choices?"

Yun Zhi froze, before dissolving into even more violent tears.

"You were never like this before."

Yan Zhi, too, wished to ask: Why was he ever like that? He had indulged her unruly tantrums, indulged her plundering, and indulged her as she relentlessly drove Qing into a corner from which there was no escape. Yun Zhi was carried back inside the manor. This time, she no longer shrieked demands for freedom; instead, she wept for the lost child, wept for her old wounds, and wept over Yan Zhi's fickleness. Sitting by the bedside, listening to her endlessly cursing him, Yan Zhi felt an overwhelming, terrifying emptiness within his chest. Suddenly, he longed to hear Qing speak, even if she merely addressed him with her old, tranquil detachment:

"Your Majesty, the night grows late."

Yet that voice was gone forever. Shadow guards were dispatched from the capital in wave after wave, only to return empty-handed time and again, bearing no trace of Qing. Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away in Wild Goose Valley, the evening glow was painting the mountains in hues of fire. I sat beside a stream, washing my sword. Xie Lin returned from the forest, his arms laden with wild fruit while two fish hung from his shoulder.

"Eldest Miss Shen, shall we have roasted fish for dinner tonight?"

Lifting my gaze to look at him, I deliberately found fault.

"Hero Xie, this fish of yours is rather pitifully small."

Smiling, Xie Lin seated himself beside me.

"What shall we do then?"

"Perhaps I should wade into the water and catch a larger one?"

I glanced at the injury on his shoulder.

"Dare step into that water, and I shall kick you in."

A soft chuckle escaped him. The stream rippled musically, and the evening breeze swept through the peach blossom grove. The world was vast and boundless; I could go wherever my feet desired. Xie Lin offered a wild fruit to my lips.

"It is sweet."

I took a bite. Indeed, it was exceedingly sweet. At that precise moment, a sharp falcon cry echoed from the mouth of the valley. He stood up, retrieving a rolled scroll from the bird's talons. It was a freshly printed volume of popular fiction. The cover bore the title: "The Crimson-Clad Heroine and the Broken-Sword Swordsman." Having flipped through two pages, I nearly choked on the wild fruit. According to the text, a heroine in crimson and an injured swordsman passing through Qing Prefecture encountered a local tyrant attempting to forcibly abduct a maiden. With a single stroke of her sword, the heroine severed the tyrant's belt, while the swordsman casually hoisted the villain from a tavern flagpole. I remained silent for a long moment.

"Are they writing about us?"

Xie Lin suppressed a smile.

"They omitted our real names."