In the dim silence of the chamber, a lone candle cast a faint glow, illuminating the shadows that filled the room. He opened his eyes in a daze, catching the flicker of light across the amber threads of the silk canopy, its delicate tassels glinting in the dim glow. Exhausted as he was, a lingering sense of something missing haunted him, stealing any chance of peaceful sleep. A faint scent, elusive yet familiar, drifted through the air—reminiscent of flowers, though unlike any he knew, carrying a subtle sweetness that seemed both foreign and strangely intimate.

Reaching out, he found only emptiness beside him. Startled, he sat up, glancing at the vacant space where she should have been. Silence filled the chamber, broken only by the sound of his own breathing.

"Someone, come."

At his command, He Qian entered, bowing respectfully by the bed.

"Where is the Empress?"

"Your Majesty, the Empress… she…"

“Speak up!”

He Qian’s hesitation grated on his patience, and his voice snapped in irritation.

“Her Highness said… she isn’t accustomed to sharing a bed, so she has gone to rest in the side chamber.”

“Leave.”

His gaze turned steely, dismissing the attendant with a flick of his hand. He lay back, but the pillow felt chillingly cold. Turning his head, he watched as drops of wax, like blood-red pearls, fell steadily from the gilded candelabra, tracing silent paths down its base.

No matter. One day, he thought, that proud heart would bow at his feet, and that day was drawing near. The faint fragrance lingered in his senses, keeping sleep at bay. Burying his head in his arm, he realized the scent was his own, as though it had seeped into his very bones. His mind drifted to her face, painted with the ethereal blue of azalea blossoms.

The winter had arrived early in Jing’an; though only early September, snow had already begun to fall. The day was only half-spent, yet the sky hung low and muted, casting a dim light over everything.

Roga, having just left morning court, made his way to Ningye Palace. In the courtyard, led by the attendants, he caught sight of her from afar. She stood beneath a plum tree, wrapped in black sable, as delicate snowflakes drifted onto her hair and fur-lined collar. Oblivious, she seemed lost in thought, her figure shadowed with an air of quiet sorrow.

The call of a bird startled Ye Rong, and she slowly turned to face Roga. For a moment, he caught a glimpse of her expression—an infinite loneliness mingled with a wistful longing so deep it was nearly transparent. Who was she yearning for? Whose memory brought her such sorrow?

He watched her, his heart inexplicably stirred by a strange sense of familiarity, even as he suppressed his jealousy. Knowing she could not see him, he masked his unease, ready to speak, when she, with a face as cold and pure as snow, spoke first.

“Where did that bird come from?”

Only then did he recall the item in his hands. A beautifully carved ivory cage appeared in his grasp as he extended it toward her.

"A gift from Nan Yi; I thought you might like it."

He took her hand, guiding it gently to the birdcage. Her fingers traced the intricate carvings, brushing softly against the downy feathers inside. She recoiled slightly, but he held her fast, pulling her into his embrace. Studying her face—colder and more striking than the winter blossoms—he narrowed his eyes, fingers tracing her lips, feeling the coolness seep into his hand.

Then, with a soft smile, he said, “The bird’s song is beautiful. I thought it might bring you some comfort.”

The bird beat its wings within the cage, sending the golden bells on its legs into a soft, frantic chime.

“What sort of bird is it?” After his fingers lingered on her lips, he lightly brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. She turned her head away instinctively. “Since it’s a tribute bird, it must be lovely.”

“An azure blue all over; it’s called a Qing Bird. Yet even it can’t compare to you.” Roga leaned in, murmuring by her ear, “There’s no long journey to Penglai if a devoted messenger is sent.”

Her body shivered, and a faint frown creased her brow as she recalled the bittersweet words, “Parting is sorrow, and though spring winds rise, blossoms fall.”

The snow continued to drift down, like soft white feathers, blanketing the courtyard. The Qing Bird’s plaintive song echoed with a mournful beauty, a sound that seemed to entwine the heart with each gentle note.

"Isn't its song beautiful? Do you like it?"

The warmth of his breath, tinged with the faint aroma of dragon musk, lingered close to her face, accompanied by soft, affectionate murmurs that would have made any other consort swoon into his arms in shy delight. Yet Ye Rong, her expression almost indifferent, remained unmoved, her voice calm and restrained.

“It’s too cold in the garden. Let’s go inside.”

He gestured to dismiss the attending servants, then took her hand and gently guided her, step by step, into the warmth of Ningye Palace, where the air was thick with the smoky scent of burning charcoal.

In the inner hall knelt a middle-aged attendant clad in blue, his teeth clenched against the pain. Scattered fragments of broken porcelain lay beneath his knees, from which blood trickled slowly, spreading in thin lines across the dark stone floor. As they entered, he immediately lowered his head in a deep bow, lips pale as he bore the agony in silence.

Noticing the familiar figure, Roga helped her to her seat with tender care and turned to ask, “What happened to that servant over there?”

“It’s nothing. Just a clumsy fool the Empress Dowager sent me—can’t even manage a simple task like serving tea.”

“Oh…” He glanced away from the servant, a slight frown creasing his brow. Then, as he began to untie the silk cord of her sable cloak, he leaned close, murmuring her name softly, his voice vibrating with a note that was both pleading and tinged with something indefinable.

“Rong, your birthday is approaching, isn’t it?”

The magnetic warmth in his tone held her for a moment. She lifted her head slightly, her long, graceful neck arching as the sable fell away, her dark eyes, unfocused yet bright, fixed on the sound of his voice.

“Your uncles, Marquis Yekesuo of Lingzhou and Marquis Yefeng of Qingzhou, haven’t seen you in quite some time. Let’s have them come back to Jing’an to celebrate your birthday. Besides, I wish to honor them for their loyal service. What do you think?”

Her grip on the armrest tightened, and her once pale fingers flushed a deep red. The corners of her cherry lips lifted into a distant smile as if the swirling snow outside had sighed in response.

“As Your Majesty wishes. I will send for them to return to Jing’an.”

“Thank you. I have some other matters to attend to, but I’ll come see you again later.”

She rose gracefully from her seat, her poise elegant and unyielding as she inclined her head in a delicate salute.

“Your Majesty, I bid you farewell.”

As his footsteps faded, she remained standing, unable to see his retreating figure.

The darkness filled her vision, an endless black that seemed poised to consume her, sapping every last trace of warmth from her body until she was left shivering with an icy chill. Nearby, the caged Qing Bird continued its mournful cries, each note laced with an ineffable fear, drifting into her ears.

“This bird’s cries disturb my peace,” she murmured. “Go and blind it. And him as well—let him cease his kneeling, blind him too, and send him back to Jing Shou Palace.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

She rose and approached the window, where the wind stirred and snow fell, cold enough to seep into her bones. Was it her heart, or the snow, that chilled her so?

The sun passed its zenith, the plum blossoms half-bloomed, vivid but still unable to conceal the wintry solitude. Remnants of snow clung to the eaves, casting a faint, desolate sheen across Ningye Palace. Within, the warmth of the charcoal brazier softened the air, filling the space with a gentle heat.

Abrupt footsteps echoed through the halls. Soon, a man in a crimson robe, adorned with a crane embroidered in bright thread, stood before the door. His expression was harsh, so much so that a drowsy servant by the entrance started, standing straighter as he bowed, “My lord.”

“Where is Her Highness?”

Ignoring the servant, Ye Songdu cast a sharp gaze through the veil of purple silk that draped the entrance, his voice low and commanding. Light filtered through, casting a faint blush over the translucent fabric, obscuring the view within.

“Her Highness is resting. Allow me to inform her of your presence,” the servant murmured respectfully. “Please wait in the side hall.”

In the side hall, sandalwood incense curled in delicate wisps through the air. A servant offered tea, accompanied by a few light refreshments. Ye Songdu picked up the teacup and took a small sip, his anxiety drifting like the tea’s faint aroma through the chamber.

After a time, a servant entered, bowing as he spoke quietly, “Your Lordship, Her Highness says she is fatigued and will not be able to rise. She requests that you return tomorrow.”

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Impudence!”

Wrinkles deepened across Ye Songdu’s face, his expression hardening. He slapped his hand against the table and rose abruptly, heading straight toward the inner hall.

“My lord!” The servant called out in alarm, trailing him anxiously.

In the inner hall, a glazed censer emitted crimson plumes of incense that floated gently within the silk-draped canopy, forming soft clouds. Ye Songdu charged forward, raising a hand to part the curtain, only to freeze midway and drop his hand as though scalded.

The pale purple veil drifted, stirring the air with each movement. In that brief moment, Ye Songdu glimpsed the woman reclined on the Xiangfei couch, her hair disheveled, her white arms peeking from beneath her dark robe.

A slight blush colored his weathered face as he recoiled, the servant close behind whispering urgently, “My lord!”

The woman on the couch slowly opened her eyes, an icy, ethereal light flashing across her gaze, like reflections from snow.

“What’s the commotion?”

Ye Songdu, bowing with forced deference from behind the screen, spoke, “Your Highness, this humble servant, Ye Songdu, seeks an audience.”

Ye Rong, still lying on the couch, sighed softly at the sound of his voice, her tone distant and faint.

“Lord Ye, what is it?”

Though displeased at being kept at a distance, Ye Songdu dared not voice his frustration, knowing he had transgressed. Suppressing his anger, he replied, “Your Highness, I have heard that you summoned the Marquis of Lingzhou and the Marquis of Qingzhou back to the capital in your capacity as head of the Ye family.”

Behind the curtain of pearls, Ye Songdu could no longer see her. After a pause, her voice drifted softly, heavy with a drowsy languor.

“Yes, my birthday is approaching. I wished to see them, and it is an opportunity for His Majesty to meet them as well.”

“Your Highness, I implore you to reconsider.” Pain and apprehension creased Ye Songdu’s brow as he clenched his hands beneath his crimson sleeve. “They are the backbone of the Ye family; any mishap would cripple us.”

“What mishap could occur? It’s only a birthday celebration. Why do you take it so gravely, Lord Ye?”

“Your Highness, caution is imperative!”

His voice rose, but from within the veil, her tone remained disinterested, her indifference pricking at his fury.

“Caution against what? Every year they return for my father’s birthday. Why should it be different for mine?”

“Your Highness! Times are not as they once were!”

“Lord Ye, I am merely asking them to celebrate my birthday here. Must you require proof? If you have no further objections, you may leave. I am weary.”

Ye Songdu’s face turned pale, and he stood speechless before the curtain for a moment. Then he lifted his head, his eyes darkening with resentment and anger.

“Your Highness, you may have lost your sight, but must your heart also remain blind?!”

At his retort, the silk veil parted slightly, and there she stood, draped in a dark gown with delicate embroidery of midnight blues and purples. Her pale hand extended from the sleeve, pointing directly at him.

“How dare you! Do you truly think I am yours to trifle with, Lord Ye?”

Ye Songdu stared blankly, feeling as though her gaze had penetrated him, laying bare his deepest secrets. Was he afraid?

“My apologies, Your Highness. I shall take my leave.”

He bowed deeply, shaken, and left in haste.

“Before, I had my doubts, but now I am certain. My father respected him greatly, yet he conspired with outsiders to bring about his death. And now, here he stands, righteous and composed. Even I must admire his audacity.”

Her chilling words startled He Du, who quickly turned to her.

Though early winter, sunlight streamed through the hall, casting a bright, serene warmth.

In the warm sunlight, her profile appeared exquisitely delicate. Her eyes, dark as the midnight sky, held a coldness more piercing than ice, a fire more consuming than flame, as though entwined with water and fire alike. They seemed to whisper of her deepest secrets, her pains... and the desolate loneliness carved by betrayal.

He Du reached out to help her sit, his voice low. “Your Highness, Lord Ye has become suspicious.”

“It doesn’t matter. All I need to do is summon them back to Jing’an. The rest… Roga will handle it. Jing’an, I fear, will soon be steeped in blood once more.”

The icy edge in her words made him shiver. Lowering his gaze, He Du took a deep breath before looking back up, only to find that her expression had shifted back to its usual cool detachment, her serene gaze seeming to steal away his soul.

“Please, Your Highness, rest assured; I vow to protect you with my life. No harm will come to you.”

A soft laugh escaped her. “How amusing, He Du. In this world, no one can truly bear the life or death of another. You lack the power, and my fate is too heavy. I carry the lives of all the Ye family upon my shoulders—too great a burden for you.”

Hearing this, Ye Rong’s crimson-stained lips curled in a faint, mocking smile, a touch of charm mingling with disdain.

“My apologies, Your Highness, for overstepping.”

He Du showed neither anger nor shame, merely bowing and resuming his watchful stance beside her. She closed her eyes slowly, her gaze fading to shadows.

Scarlet smoke swirled in the air, mingling with the scent of incense. He Du could not help but think, Loneliness as deep as this… a beauty as delicate as a flower.

Roga knew that Lord Ye Songdu had visited her and that they had clashed in a subtle battle of wills. The process was smoother than expected, perhaps even suspiciously so. Striding through the shadowed corridors of the palace, usually teeming with attendants, Roga noted that Ningye Palace was eerily quiet, its doors closed tightly despite the bright lights within. A sense of foreboding urged him to quicken his pace.

Only He Du remained outside the palace door. Seeing Roga approach, he knelt calmly, his face devoid of expression, his gaze dark and unsettling. Yet Roga sensed no respect in his eyes, only a chilling indifference.

Fixing a hard stare on He Du, he spoke coldly, “What’s going on?”

“Her Highness… wished to be alone today, so… there was no need for us to serve her.”

“Oh?”

He raised an eyebrow at He Du, who lay prostrate, hesitating over his words. Just as Roga prepared to enter, He Du’s quiet voice halted him.

“Your Majesty, Her Highness desires solitude…”

He nearly kicked He Du aside, but knowing better than to vent his anger on a mere servant, he brushed his dragon-patterned sleeve and strode into the palace.

A faint scent of blood lingered in the hall, where a dozen candle flames flickered, dizzying his vision. Squinting, he finally saw Ye Rong curled up in a corner of the bed, trembling, her usual cold composure entirely shattered.

Her hands were clenched tightly, blood seeping through her fingers, staining the lilac bedclothes with a trail of red blossoms, vivid and macabre.

His heart clenched as he rushed over, reaching out to her.

“What happened… what’s wrong?”

Ye Rong lifted her face at the sound, hesitant. Her brows drawn, her expression fragile and lost. Her pale face, bathed in the candlelight’s soft gold, bore a delicate flush at the lips, the slightest hint of red, set against the blue azalea petals painted on her cheeks—a sorrow so transparent it seemed about to dissolve.

“Who let you in?” Her body shook, her blood-stained lips parting as she whispered, “Leave… go away.”

“It’s me, Roga. What’s wrong, Rong…” He whispered her name, pulling her into his arms. “Someone, come quickly!”

“Don’t call anyone, don’t…” She pushed him weakly, sorrow coloring her voice. “Just… go…”

He gasped, seeing her hands soaked in blood, each palm cut with a thin, deep slash, her nails digging further into the wounds, streaks of crimson trailing down her fingers, blooming like vivid red flowers.

“Your Majesty.”

He Du appeared at her side at her call.

“What’s happened to her?! Why didn’t you summon the physician, you fool?!”

“Your Majesty, this is Her Highness’s recurring ailment, flaring up each winter. Summoning the physician won’t help; she simply needs to endure it alone for three days.”

“He’s right. Leave, Roga… let me be.”

The bitterness in her voice, sharp as bile, twisted in her chest. She clenched her fists, the pain steadying her mind, forcing a faint, ghostly smile to her lips, hauntingly alluring. Then, sweat began to bead and trickle down her brow, her breathing shallow as strands of hair cast shadows across her face.

Seeing her so vulnerable, Roga shouted at He Du, his composure lost, “Go and fetch the physician at once!”

“Your Majesty, Her Highness is enduring the residual pain from the ‘Soul-Burning Poison.’ Nothing can relieve it…”

He Du did not move, his gaze calm and frigid, inscrutable as ice.

Roga’s mind reeled as if struck by a thunderclap. The ‘Soul-Burning Poison’ was a potent toxin, brewed in secrecy within the palace, lying dormant in the body for over a year before flaring up. Once triggered, it entwined with the bones, impossible to eradicate, causing agony each winter until the victim succumbed.

“Do not worry, Your Majesty. Her Highness has purged most of the poison from her system; this is merely the residual effects. After three days, she will be fine.”

He glanced at her, the candlelight casting shadows of a darkened night across her face. Roga’s heart trembled as he slowly asked, “And her sight…?”

“Yes, Your Highness. The poison blinded her,” He Du replied, bowing, then pointed to two porcelain bottles at the bedside. “The red one is for pain; the blue is a sedative to help her rest.”

Finished, he turned to leave. Roga scowled, but just as he prepared to lash out, Ye Rong gasped.

The burning pain at last broke through her defenses, a cry slipping from her lips like the cry of a wounded animal. Sweat soaked her inner garments, dripping down onto the bed, her hair spilling in dark waves, tangled and unrestrained.

“Is it unbearable? Shall I fetch the medicine?”

“This only masks the pain. When it fades, the agony will return…” She pushed aside the red bottle with a weary sigh.

“Don’t be afraid. The pain will pass soon, it will end quickly.”

He pulled her close, his hand gently stroking her back. His awkward attempts at comfort fell short, calming nothing at all.

She laughed bitterly, leaning against him, yet her body remained rigid, her heart suddenly aflame with a searing pain. He came riding a bamboo horse, circling the courtyard with green plums in hand… Was it a cherished memory or a bone-deep wound? She could no longer tell.

The pain that scalded her bones felt worse than death, ripping her apart inch by inch, pulling her into an endless darkness, an abyss where light could not reach, as she was dragged down into a sea of sin and despair. And there he stood on the opposite shore, seated on his golden throne, beauties by his side, smiling with a mockery so innocent it stung.

When they met again, the past had faded like smoke… He had greeted her with a hollow, “It’s been a while, my royal sister…”

In the glow of the lamps, Ye Rong’s face was pale and tinged with blue, her eyes tightly shut, her hands clenched, bleeding heavily—a testament to her agony. He clasped her cold, lifeless fingers, shielding her wounds.

He feared—yes, he feared—losing her like this.

She no longer pushed him away but instead clutched his hand, her nails digging into his flesh with a desperate force that tore his skin, as if she were a drowning soul clinging to driftwood, unwilling to let go even in death.

And then, with a voice choked with tears, she murmured, “Roga… Roga…”

“Rong, I’m here.” Bearing the pain in his hand, Roga gazed at her deeply, cradling her gently, coaxing her like one would a frightened child.

“Rong, take the medicine… if you take it, the pain will subside.”

He whispered her name softly, propping her against him as he reached for the blue porcelain vial, gently wiping the cold sweat from her brow while holding the pill to her lips, urging her with tender words.

To his surprise, Ye Rong lifted her head sharply, so close that their breaths mingled, each exhale a shared whisper.

“Roga, remember this—I have never once escaped, not from any pain, no matter how unbearable…”

“Why…?”

“My pride doesn’t allow it. My dignity, the blood of the Ye family coursing through me—all forbid it. Escape is the act of a coward, merely casting one’s suffering upon another… So I endured, no matter the agony. Do you understand?”

Her eyes, half-open, held the faint glow of the crimson candlelight, like distant fireworks, a hint of faded dreams tinted with the dust of the mortal world.

Roga felt his heart tremble, and he took a deep breath, struggling to steady himself from the intensity of her words.

“I understand… I understand…”

“No, you don’t… you never have, Roga… because you chose escape from the beginning…” She seemed to speak both to herself and him, her voice as soft as a whisper. “You chose a path that pushed us both to the brink, leaving no way back… but don’t worry… I will live… I will live to watch you…”

She appeared so fragile, lacking even the strength to lift her eyelids. He leaned down, trying to catch her fading words, but her voice had already stilled.

His fingers brushed her ashen cheek, tracing gently before he pulled her close, his hand gliding through her hair, over her neck—a sensation so delicate and fragile it felt as if she would melt within his palm.

“Don’t think of anything. Just rest.”

She continued trembling from the pain, yet she seemed to hear his words, leaning weakly against him, her voice barely audible as she murmured, “Roga, lonely Roga…”

Lonely?

Lonely…

Why did he love her so much? Knowing well that to love her was a perilous thing…

Beauty? He had seen countless beauties in his life.

She was neither gentle nor understanding and could be cold as ice.

But her sightless eyes seemed to pierce through his loneliness.

As if she, who had endured so much, who knew all the betrayals and pain of this world… could speak a single word and pull him into an unbreakable spell.

Outside, snow began to fall… The chill seeped into the palace, the snow and wind biting and cold… so cold.

Breathing in the scent of her skin, he watched as she nestled closer to his chest, seeking warmth against the winter’s bite.

It was as if, in this world, they were each other’s only warmth.

Something within him thawed. For the first time, he looked unflinchingly into his own heart.

Feeling his heart and hers draw close beneath the snow-laden night, he felt, for the first time, a fire begin to burn within him