Chapter 129

After waking from his afternoon nap, Gu Yuanbai received the letter that Kong Yilin had ghostwritten for him.

After reading it, Gu Yuanbai was thoroughly satisfied. He polished it a bit more, then stamped it with his seal and ordered it to be sent to Western Xia with all haste.

Since the second prince of Western Xia dared to scheme and use Gu Yuanbai, Gu Yuanbai planned to return the favor. With the old emperor of Western Xia still alive, he would make Li Angyi’s path to the throne even more treacherous and difficult—consider it his sincere gift.

By the time Li Angyi finished dealing with the chaos within his own country, the coastal war between Fusang and Da Heng would have already begun. Li Angyi fancied himself the fisherman; when the snipe and clam fought, he certainly wouldn’t miss the chance to profit from their conflict.

It remained to be seen whether the fisherman would benefit, or if the mantis stalking the cicada would find the oriole behind it.

Gu Yuanbai’s teeth moved slightly as he bit his lip. The sharp pain flashed and passed, leaving his eyes even clearer.

He would give Li Angyi enough time to secure his throne and grasp military power firmly in his hands. After Li Angyi had completely transformed Western Xia, then he would take over that renewed land.

Li Angyi, will you lose, or will I win?

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His garments shed the water that was about to fall. Gu Yuanbai placed his hands together, raised them before his body, then slowly lowered them.

His spine curved as he bowed deeply toward the coffin.

His lips must have been touched by rainwater too, for when he spoke, he tasted a bitter flavor on his tongue.

Gu Yuanbai’s hair was heavy with moisture, his eyelashes weighed down by raindrops until he could barely see Consort Wan’s coffin clearly. The plum blossom cakes of early winter were sweetest, the shade beneath the trees most pleasant.

These memories, along with the coffin, pressed upon his heart. Clinging and refusing to let go—summer was coming, yet winter still lay before his eyes. Gu Yuanbai’s lips parted slightly, and again he tasted a mouthful of fine, continuous rain. The bitter taste became salty; the rain was unkind.

Da Heng’s emperor bent his back toward Consort Wan’s coffin for a long while, then said softly, “Rest in peace, Your Highness.”

Behind him, all the officials likewise raised their hands and bowed together with the emperor.

Consort Wan’s funeral rites were already of the highest standard within regulations, and her epitaph was personally written by Gu Yuanbai. This was the first time Gu Yuanbai had written such a piece, and perhaps because his emotions ran deep, it flowed from his brush in one go. After the epitaph was completed, everyone who read it was moved to tears.

[Translation of the classical Chinese epitaph: “I had not seen Mother for long, seeking her in the pavilion. Her earnest words and gentle speech, I gazed at the spirit tree nearby. Upon the tree were young birds. Mother and I watched together, then she sighed and said: ‘When the young grow up, how can they not leave their mother?’ I turned to look and saw several white hairs at Mother’s temples. Recently, I sought the tree again. The old bird had returned, but seemed lost and confused as it circled the grown young, perhaps feeling the same as I.”]

When Tian Fusheng read this, he broke down completely in tears.

After Consort Wan’s burial, court was suspended for three days.

For those entire three days, Gu Yuanbai shut himself in his study. Each day, only when dusk was about to fall would he emerge.

His expression seemed fine, only his eyes were slightly red, like peach blossoms in rain, with a faint, barely perceptible sorrow.

Those around him pretended not to notice. Tian Fusheng served the emperor his evening meal, and seeing that His Majesty had little appetite, said: “The monks who escorted Consort Wan’s coffin here—this servant inquired about them. They’re from the famous Jinchan Temple in Hebei. They came of their own accord, and today they asked this servant for permission to take their leave. They truly want nothing in return, each one kinder than the last.”

Gu Yuanbai sighed, “You once told me they returned to Hebei from the capital, then followed the Consort back to the capital from Hebei. They have a connection with the Consort. Before they leave, bring them to speak with me.”

Tian Fusheng replied, “This servant has noted it.”

That night, Gu Yuanbai suddenly woke from a nightmare, gasping heavily, his fingers gripping the bedding so tightly they turned white, trembling unnaturally.

Xue Yuan, sleeping on the floor beside the bed, instantly opened his eyes, rolled over to pour a cup of water from the table, and brought it to Gu Yuanbai’s lips in just a few steps. After several sips, Gu Yuanbai gripped his wrist and looked up helplessly: “Xue Yuan, I dreamed—”

His words stopped abruptly.

Xue Yuan looked at him openly, his upper body bare before Gu Yuanbai’s eyes, scars faintly visible, adding to his roguish air.

Gu Yuanbai released his hand and lowered his gaze to the teacup, staring at the swaying water light within. The nightmare from before became fragmented. He seemingly casually raised his hand to rub the bridge of his nose: “Why aren’t you wearing clothes?”

Xue Yuan smiled, “It’s a bit warm.”

At these words, Gu Yuanbai glanced at him through his fingers. Xue Yuan’s physique was truly exceptional—everything where it should be, and from that hurried glimpse, quite… impressive.

Firm and powerful, life and vitality forged through blood and battle on the sword’s edge.

Gu Yuanbai exhaled deeply and handed the water cup back to Xue Yuan, saying in a muffled voice: “However warm it is, you must still follow proper conduct.”

Xue Yuan took the cup, his fingers inadvertently brushing against the emperor’s. The emperor’s eyelid twitched, and like a startled creature, he jerked back. The teacup suddenly fell from between their fingertips, landing on the silk bedding and instantly soaking a patch of fabric.

The cup slid down the smooth silk and bounced gently on the soft mattress.

Xue Yuan paused, looking down at the now-still teacup, then when he raised his head, his gaze on Gu Yuanbai had changed.

Gu Yuanbai’s expression remained calm. He glanced at the wet patch and said with perfect composure: “Bring a fresh set of bedding.”

Xue Yuan gave a low response but remained standing.

In the darkness, he was somewhat frightening standing by the bed. With half his body bare, regardless of whether he might do anything to Gu Yuanbai, just looking at those rising and falling contours was enough to unsettle one’s heart.

Gu Yuanbai had said he wanted to sleep with him, but seeing him now gave him a headache. Thinking was one thing, doing or not doing was another, and risking one’s life to pursue such thoughts—that wasn’t worth it.

With the lingering fear of waking from a nightmare still in his heart, Gu Yuanbai said, “Don’t stand by my bed like a post.”

Xue Yuan pressed his knee onto the bed, leaned forward with his arms, and Gu Yuanbai unconsciously retreated, backing against the wall. After realizing what he had done, Gu Yuanbai’s face darkened. What was he avoiding? Avoiding Xue Yuan?

It was just a bare upper body—Gu Yuanbai, what are you avoiding? Could it be you’re actually afraid of him?

His tone immediately hardened: “Xue Jiuyao, what do you think you’re doing?”

The emperor shrank into the corner, yet his tone was utterly commanding.

In the dim lamplight, Xue Yuan’s eyes gradually adjusted to the brightness. He could see clearly—the emperor’s brows were furrowed, lips pressed downward, hair disheveled, like a pitiful thing trying to act tough.

Even the corners of his eyes still held the redness that had accumulated over these days, his eyelids swollen.

Every gradual change in Gu Yuanbai couldn’t escape Xue Yuan’s eyes. He knew clearly how many times these eyes had secretly, enduringly wept during these past days. The little emperor believed that men shouldn’t easily shed tears, and he didn’t want others to see his vulnerability, so Xue Yuan could only pretend not to know.

He leaned forward, drawing closer to Gu Yuanbai.

His presence gradually enveloped everything around them.

The scent of weapons and desert—Gu Yuanbai found it strange that his suppressed, sorrowful heart suddenly began beating faster at this moment.

His heart pounded chaotically in his chest, beating so wildly it irritated him. He pressed his hand against Xue Yuan’s chest, absolutely refusing to do anything impure during the mourning period: “Get away.”

But when his hand made contact, it was the sensation of skin with no fabric barrier.

Gu Yuanbai froze.

In the instant he stiffened, Xue Yuan was already before him. Heat rushed forward, and just as Gu Yuanbai was about to assume a stern expression, Xue Yuan merely leaned down gently, tenderly kissing the emperor’s fevered eyelids, then moving to his ear to whisper: “This subject will go get you fresh bedding right away. Very quickly—please wait for me.”

As soon as he finished speaking, he rose cleanly and decisively, stepped back from the bed, and left carrying the silk bedding that had been soaked in one spot.

Gu Yuanbai remained in the corner for a long while before raising his hand to touch his eyes.

After some time, he felt his earlobe itching and rubbed it, only to discover that at some point, his earlobe had become burning hot.

Yet he hadn’t felt any heat?

Gu Yuanbai frowned and touched his face—it too was slightly warm.

He pondered this thoughtfully.

It was just a nightmare, yet it had made him lose even his ability to judge hot and cold. Gu Yuanbai lay down on the bed. Not far away, the clear sounds of cabinet doors opening and closing reached his ears. He turned his head to look and saw a figure gradually approaching in the darkness, carrying bedding. Walking to the bedside lamplight, the shadowy figure slowly became clear.

“I don’t need such thick bedding,” Gu Yuanbai spoke truthfully. “I actually feel rather warm now.”

Warm? Xue Yuan’s expression suddenly changed. He threw the bedding aside and immediately felt Gu Yuanbai’s forehead. Good—no frightening burning sensation.

But he still wasn’t reassured. Just as he was about to leave the inner chamber with a dark expression to call for someone, Gu Yuanbai grabbed his wrist: “Where are you going?”

Xue Yuan’s voice carried a hint of agitation: “I’m going to call the imperial physician.”

“No need,” Gu Yuanbai commanded. “I know my own body. Xue Yuan, I’m ordering you to lie down and sleep now.”

Xue Yuan stood silently for a while, clenching his fingers until they cracked. After a long moment, he turned around, tested the temperature of Gu Yuanbai’s forehead several times, then reluctantly sat on his own bedding, sitting upright as he stared at Gu Yuanbai.

Gu Yuanbai was irritated by his staring, his earlobes itching even more. Finally, he suddenly sat up, grabbed Xue Yuan’s chin, and said fiercely: “Stop looking at me.”

Xue Yuan’s expression froze. His eyes were complex, and again he showed that expression that made Gu Yuanbai feel like he was holding back a breath of anger.

As if he’d been abandoned, as if half his life had been torn away.

Gu Yuanbai’s lips pulled into a straight line. He applied pressure with his hand, leaving a red mark on Xue Yuan’s chin, then finally let go and lay down stiffly: “Look if you want to look.”