October 27.

The turbulence within the palace had not rippled out to the common folk. Mo Qiehuai, accompanied by only a handful of guards, made his way to Baiyun Temple.

Baiyun Temple, a renowned monastery outside Jing’an City, was usually bustling with worshippers. Yet today, not being a traditional day for offerings, it lay in tranquil silence. The incense curling upward in the grand hall seemed almost ethereal, while the rhythmic knocking of the wooden fish drum echoed with a hollow resonance.

An elderly abbot, his hair white as snow, was kneeling to offer incense when Mo Qiehuai entered. Dressed in a simple gray robe, the abbot rose and bowed deeply upon seeing him.

Mo Qiehuai returned the courtesy with haste and asked, “Master, has a young lady come to pray today?”

The abbot chanted softly, “Amitabha. In our humble temple, the phoenix alights, and in the rear courtyard, the sycamore leads to the meditation chambers.”

Mo Qiehuai, taken aback by the abbot’s composed demeanor, felt a jolt in his heart and inwardly cursed, Wily old monk.

After a brief offering, he gave a quiet instruction to his guards and left the incense-laden hall. As he moved, a low Buddhist chant resonated through the dense smoke, brushing his ears.

Turning back briefly, he caught sight of the abbot’s serene smile, a visage strikingly similar to the gilded Buddha statues behind him. Hastily, he averted his gaze and strode away.

The rear courtyard of Baiyun Temple exuded a markedly different atmosphere, devoid of the worldly clamor of incense offerings. The eastern wind swept through, scattering desolate leaves across the ground. Shadows danced under the ancient temple eaves, casting heavy darkness upon those who passed. As Mo Qiehuai wandered, uncertain of the phoenix’s roost, he noticed a cluster of maidservants gathered outside a chamber. They stood silently, not daring to whisper even a word.

A faint smile tugged at his lips. Ignoring the startled looks from the maids, he pushed open the chamber door and entered.

The room was thick with the scent of incense, mingling with the oppressive stillness. Morning sunlight trickled through the tightly shut lattice windows, painting intricate patterns on the furnishings. In the untouched corners, the cold air and somber light enveloped the white walls, creating an ambiance of stagnant serenity.

On a chaise draped in Xiangfei silk lay Ye Rong, seemingly asleep.

The steward, He Du, startled by Mo Qiehuai’s unexpected entrance, instinctively moved to call out but was swiftly silenced with a gesture.

Ye Rong reclined there, her jet-black hair cascading like clouds, her ornaments and pins set aside. The dark robe embroidered with crimson peonies in golden threads accentuated her delicate complexion, imbuing her with an air of dazzling elegance, though it was tinged with fragile vulnerability.

Taking a seat on a narrow-backed chair beside the chaise, Mo Qiehuai leaned forward, his gaze tracing her features. A faint, elusive fragrance lingered in the air, a sweet, ephemeral scent uniquely hers.

A sense of peace seeped into him—a rare tranquility that filled his heart as he watched her sleep.

She remained oblivious, her breaths deep and steady.

After a long while, when she still hadn’t stirred, Mo Qiehuai extended a hand to her cheek.

His hand, cold from the outside air, made her instinctively flinch. Her brows knit slightly as she shifted away.

The dark sleeve of his robe brushed against her alabaster arm. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open.

As Ye Rong’s gaze focused, she found herself staring directly at a hand pressed to her face. The chill of those fingers, cold as iron, lingered on her cheek, and she could hear the quiet breaths of the man beside her.

Reflexively, she reached up to grasp his hand. A haze of half-dreaming confusion clouded her eyes as she murmured softly, “Roga…”

Mo Qiehuai’s chest tightened. He swiftly withdrew his hand, his expression darkening. His gaze flicked toward He Du, who wore a faint, knowing smile. Embarrassment flared, and he barked, “Out! I need to speak with her alone!”

Her eyes flew open, and the pallor of her face deepened. Her lips, drained of color, trembled like a pale crescent moon waning in sorrow.

“He Du, you may leave.”

He Du’s gaze lingered on Mo Qiehuai for a moment before he lowered his head, the hem of his blue robe brushing the floor as he turned to exit.

The chamber was left with just the two of them. Silence fell heavy between them.

Ye Rong did not rush to speak. Though her vision was clouded, her tranquil gaze seemed to ripple with an autumnal depth as she groped for balance, attempting to rise.

“Your Majesty,” she said softly, “you must have arranged for the Empress. You will not find her here.”

He reached out, steadying her shoulder. Feeling her instinctively recoil, he tightened his grip, helping her to sit upright.

As her body shifted, she winced, her pallor somehow growing even fainter.

Mo Qiehuai’s brow furrowed. Picking up a dark cloak, he draped it over her shoulders. “Once bound by the ties of marriage, a hundred days of affection follow. Yet every time you see me, you wear that hateful expression.”

Predictably, Ye Rong’s pale face flushed crimson. He laughed softly, his earlier displeasure melting away, and took her hand. “I’m leaving soon. Before my departure, I naturally had to find an excuse to see you,Rouge.”

“To Qingzhou, is it?”

“Ah,Rouge, ever perceptive.”

He faltered for a moment, his gaze locking on hers. Her cold, regal expression revealed nothing else, leaving him unable to decipher her thoughts.

“My father was already ensnared by Ye Songdu at the time. He could never reconcile himself to the idea of an outsider like my father leading the Ye clan. But the first rule of the Ye family’s ancestral code is this: no harm shall come to one’s kin. So, instead, he conspired with Su Qingfu to poison my father, leaving him overwhelmed and defenseless…”

“Bone-Flame Poison is among the rarest and deadliest in the world. Surely the one who saved your life could have easily cured your father’s affliction.”

“The Northern physician was acting under royal orders—to save only me. To him, my father’s survival held no value, so why would he save him?” Her lips retained a faint, detached smile, yet her gaze turned cold and unyielding. “And so, I hate them. I hate the North. Regardless of what you suspect about my connection to King Peirong, I loathe him with every fiber of my being. If I could, I would kill him a thousand times over. Whatever the nature of our relationship, even if I must commit atrocities of the highest order—no matter the price, no matter the eternal damnation—I would bear it all.”

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She stared directly at him, her voice calm yet laced with a chill so profound it seemed to seep into the very marrow of those who heard it, making them shudder.

“And you too, aren’t you, Qiehuai? Having grown up within the Northern royal court, how could you not harbor even a shred of hatred for Peirong, the man who killed your father? Tell me, wasn’t your mind in turmoil before coming to Baiyun Temple? Balancing the loyalty of tens of thousands of soldiers, posturing unity in a campaign against the North, and all the while working to dispel Peirong’s suspicions and prevent him from exposing your true identity to Roga… Qiehuai, the weight you bear is crushing, isn’t it?”

He flinched again, the silence between them palpable, thick with an oppressive hatred that drained the last vestiges of warmth from the air, leaving only a glacial chill.

Her words fell like heavy blows upon his heart, each syllable a blade cutting into his very being, wrenching at his soul with an almost unbearable pain.

Beneath the searing pain in his chest lay a faint yet undeniable sense of elation—after so many years, someone had finally understood him so completely.

“And you? Are you truly any better than I am? You schemed to eliminate Ye Songdu and his ilk, wielding others like blades to achieve your ends, but did you really think you could secure control of the Ye clan so easily? Were it not for your pregnancy, your body would have disappeared without a trace by now. Do you believe they will let this child be born? In that palace, every soul is praying for the death of this as-yet-unformed life. Guanyin, the goddess of fertility? No matter how devoutly you pray, it will be of no use.”

His cutting accusation pierced her heart like an icy blade, its sharp edges ripping apart the delicate veil shielding her most vulnerable truths, leaving her bare before his merciless scrutiny.

“Qiehuai, you desire the throne that is rightfully yours, don’t you? I can help you. I can aid you in ways that Peirong never could.”

“And why should I believe you?” His hand extended, pressing against her abdomen as he studied her face, serene as polished jade, yet now devoid of its usual mask of calm. For the first time, his frigid and imperious nature stood fully unveiled. “Here lies his child. The birth of this child would bring me nothing but harm.”

She exhaled softly, sidestepping his touch. Turning her face away, she lowered her gaze, veiling the tangled emotions that churned within. Even her final murmur slipped past her lips so faintly that it seemed like silence itself.

“You truly are endearingly naive, Qiehuai. Even if it is not I who carries his child, sooner or later another concubine would bear his offspring. However…”

“However?”

“I can ensure that no woman will ever have the chance to bring his children into this world.” Ye Rong’s head remained bowed, her pale, delicate wrist emerging from the gold-embroidered dark sleeves of her robe, accentuating her slender fragility. The sunlight streaming through the window lent her a soft, jade-like glow. Yet the words she uttered were anything but gentle. “I will make sure that he has no heirs. No child of his bloodline will ever exist.”

Qiehuai did not rush to respond. Instead, he smiled faintly, letting his hand glide once more to her abdomen. “Is that so? But one is sometimes enough. Look at him—he was the sole son of Jin Ou.”

“Then, as a token of my sincerity, let me assure you—this child will not be born. Is that acceptable?”

Her expression remained unmoved, her demeanor as calm as carved jade. Yet the slightest quiver of her lashes betrayed a shadow of emotion, casting a faint darkness across her composed visage.

“Ye Rong, you are truly a woman who captures my thoughts,” he said, his voice lowering as he gazed at her, his eyes filled with equal parts allure and guarded suspicion. Then, with a sigh as soft as a waft of incense, his tone shifted into something wistful, almost melancholic. “I am deeply curious—what has fueled such hatred in you? Roga is already childless, and now even his throne teeters on the brink.”

I only wish to destroy everything he has taken from me.

This thought echoed in her mind, though she said nothing. Instead, she removed the golden pendant from around her neck and placed it into Qiehuai’s hand. Straightening her posture, she spoke with quiet resolve.

“Take this token. Tell Peirong that the kingdom of Li will never march against the Northern Tribes. Hold Qingzhou for just one month. That’s all I ask. As you’ve said, the Ye clan has just lost its foundation and needs time to recover. After one month, everything will be ready, and the world will belong to us.”

He stared at her and, in that moment, made his decision.

He could have waited longer, but he chose to align himself with this fragile yet indomitable woman.

Not because of her beauty or charm, but because she understood him. She saw through him.

Reaching through the veil of swirling incense, he clasped her fingers—cold, like they had never known warmth.

“One month. We have an accord.”

“One month,” she echoed.

Qiehuai. Roga once called you his sharpest blade. But a blade cuts both ways—what wounds others will wound itself as well.

By late November, Jing’an had succumbed to the chill of winter.

The deep night was bitterly cold, yet the Ningye Palace blazed with light. The icy glow of the candle flames softened into a hazy mist that filled the still air. Despite the pervasive chill outside, the brazier’s warm embers enveloped the hall, lending the night an unexpected warmth.

Silence reigned within the palace, broken only by the occasional sputter of melting wax and the faint chirping of crickets. On the desk stood a jade vase holding a single sprig of red plum, cut earlier in the day. Its once-vivid petals drooped, wilted and weary, yet exuding a quiet, serene beauty.

A servant standing nearby stole a glance at her and was instantly entranced.

Ye Rong sat silently on the grand master’s chair behind the desk, her high coiffure adorned with a gold-and-emerald hairpin. The rouge blossom adorning her cheek, a vivid blue-green hue, glimmered faintly in the candlelight, exuding a subtle and mysterious charm.

Even as she casually twirled a thin stalk of grass, teasing the crickets in the ornate bowl beside her, her countenance remained distant and regal, as unattainable as a star in the night sky.

Lost in thought, she was startled by a cold snort. Turning her head sharply, she realized that Roga, dressed in the imperial yellow robe embroidered with twelve imperial emblems, was standing before her. Hastily, the servant dropped to their knees to pay respects before retreating in deference.

Footsteps echoed in the stillness, growing nearer. Even without sight, Ye Rong immediately recognized the visitor.

“So late. Why are you here?” she asked.

“You’re awake this late as well,” a clear, resonant voice replied, carrying a trace of reproach. “You’re with child—you shouldn’t be exhausting yourself. Have you eaten? I had them prepare some lotus seed and longan soup. Have a bit.”

Ye Rong’s gaze, shadowed and deep, swept lightly over him as she placed the grass stalk aside and adjusted her sleeves. “You’ve been coming every night this month. There’s no need for such trouble. They take good care of me.”

At her side, He Du took the soup from He Qian, testing it with a silver needle before presenting it to Roga.

Roga settled beside her, lifting the bowl with a faintly peculiar expression on his otherwise flawless face. He smiled and said softly, “I can’t be at ease unless I feed you myself. I know you’re tired of it, but the imperial physician insists. Your blood and energy are weak; you must replenish them. Just a few sips—this is the last bowl.”

With a slight furrow of her brows, she reluctantly sipped two mouthfuls before refusing to drink more.

He poured her a cup of tea, carefully helping her rinse her mouth.

From the jade censer, threads of cardamom incense spiraled into the air, intertwining with the rich fragrance of flowers. The intensity of the aroma made Roga frown slightly, but he maintained his gentle smile.

“You see? If I didn’t come, you wouldn’t eat a thing. Honestly, you can be as stubborn as a child.”

“I’m truly weary of it.”

Their proximity was such that Roga could feel her soft breath brushing against his cheek as she spoke, setting his heart astir. He forgot himself momentarily, pulling her closer without thinking.

Sensing his actions, she subtly pushed him away, her tone as calm as ever. “It’s late, Your Majesty. You should rest.”

Roga loosened his hold, his gentle smile unwavering. “Then you should rest too. I’ll come to see you tomorrow.”

As his footsteps receded, Ye Rong reached up, brushing her fingers through her hair.

Her fingertips lingered on the strands, faintly catching traces of his presence. For reasons she couldn’t name, her thoughts grew restless, and a slight crease formed between her delicate brows. Her expression, in her moment of reverie, shifted between wistfulness and an unspoken sadness.

On the desk, even the crickets seemed weary, their chirping feeble and irregular.

As He Du collected the ornate cricket bowl, he remarked, “Your Grace, the Emperor is spending the night with Consort Wu.”

Sitting silently, Ye Rong slightly raised her head, her gaze distant, her eyes shimmering like moonlit frost—soft and cold, tinged with a sorrowful detachment.

“Who has he frequented most this past month?”

“Among the consorts of higher rank, His Majesty has often summoned them, but the ones he visits most are Consort Shu and Consort Xian.”

“I see. You may go. Be sure to prepare everything.”

With a faint, indifferent smile, she waved He Du away.

The candlelight flickered faintly, its glow reflecting off the blue-green adornment on her cheek, casting a melancholy hue upon her visage.