Ye Rong felt her body sink into the softness of the bed as the hand slowly withdrew from her neck. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the familiar silk of the brocade, realizing she had been placed on the bed within the Palace of Tranquil Night.

But the silence that followed was unsettling, and her body began to tremble. Suddenly, she felt someone pounce on her from behind, enveloping her in a tight embrace. Powerful arms circled her body, both furious and tender, holding her with such force as if trying to crush her entirely. The suffocating embrace made her breath falter, her chest constricting painfully.

The erratic breathing, the frantic heartbeats she heard at her ear left her unable to distinguish between his and hers. Unable to endure the heated silence any longer, she hesitantly spoke:

“Brother…”

His voice finally came, his hot breath brushing against her skin, his voice hoarse, like fine grains of sand grazing her ear.

“Call me by my name. I love it when you say my name.”

“...I…” Before she could finish, a ticklish sensation grazed her neck. She had always been sensitive, instinctively reaching out to push his face away. But he wouldn't relent, instead capturing her hand, pressing her fingers gently to his lips.

“Say 'I'—none of these formalities. Go on, call me by my name.”

“ Roga... I…” She was dazed by his teasing, then her expression turned cold. She looked away, trying to withdraw her hand.

The bright candlelight of the Palace of Tranquil Night illuminated the brocade bed curtain embroidered with flowers, the subtle patterns transforming into a vivid orange hue, resembling blossoms blooming gradually. She struggled against his touch, her lips curling into a faint smile. Though her gaze was obscured, her black hair, pale skin, clouded eyes, and rose-red lips formed the most captivating image in Roga's eyes.

He found himself enraptured by her intoxicating beauty. His hand moved from her forehead, down her temple, past her ear, trailing down her neck, his fingers finally resting at her nape, feeling the pulse flutter beneath.

She couldn’t see his expression, but she felt the burning intensity of his gaze on her, his arms tightening around her, forbidding escape, forbidding resistance.

Suddenly, his kiss fell upon her—possessive, familiar warmth that softened her entire being, stealing her breath in an instant. He kissed her hungrily, his breathing growing heavier as he tore at her clothes, covering her body with his own. His powerful fingers traced her skin inch by inch, his touch tender as if reacquainting himself with a long-lost treasure, the sensation nearly destroying all of his resolve.

Her pale, warm body, her shallow, rapid breaths—all of it was pure temptation, a familiarity that tugged at something deep within him. His heart struggled, like a moth in the dark, drawn toward the candlelight filtering through the palace curtain. Just a bit closer, just a little more, and he could break through that veil of memory, but he failed, yet again.

He could only whisper her name, over and over, as if he had called it a thousand times before.

“Rong… Rong…”

Beneath him, she trembled, her desire like water wrapping around the flames. She murmured with a seductive yet cruel smile, “ Roga... Who are you calling? Are you calling me… is it me…?”

Desperately, she pressed against him, biting down on his shoulder. Her teeth sank into the firm muscle, mercilessly, leaving crimson blood staining Ye Rong’s lips.

The years of passionate obsession seemed to drain away in that moment. At that instant, she understood clearly—the connection between them was nothing more than a hollow tenderness, fabricated for the sake of keeping his throne safe and stable. It was a lie meticulously crafted, a façade.

She bore a thousand grudges, countless resentments, but there was no way to release them. The pain and hatred ultimately left her with no choice but to yield. Yet, she knew her heart still throbbed for that empty warmth.

She hated him, and she hated herself for it.

Driven by her frenzied desire, she only wanted to tear him apart, grind him into dust, rip open his body and consume his very being. Blood trickled from her lips, dripping onto his chest, then slowly congealed.

He didn’t care. He tangled with her like a beast, until neither of them could tell where one ended and the other began.

The autumn chill seeped in, the western wind blowing through the curtains, yet only a pair of entangled swans remained, each lost in their separate dreams.

After a long, long while, Ye Rong collapsed into Roga's arms, limp like soft clay. Her breath came in ragged, fragmented gasps, her soul seemingly scattered. Even in her daze, his scorching lips found hers again.

“Who was that person?”

Just as she thought she might suffocate, his lips finally left hers, but his voice remained right by her ear.

“What person?”

“You know what I mean, Rong…”

“I don't.”

In his arms, with the most gentle expression, she delivered the sharpest words, instantly freezing his burning heart.

That a woman could make him swing from such great joy to utter sorrow—he became like that naive, lovesick boy he once was.

“Fine. Let me ask differently: why?”

“Why… Why can't you say it, Roga?” As he spoke, she left his embrace, sitting up, her bare skin catching the flickering candlelight.

The scarlet brocade curtains had been drawn down, the flickering candlelight faintly filtering through, casting a soft glow on her body, and illuminating the cascade of her dark hair with a sheen like flowing water.

She smiled faintly, her brows still carrying that dignified elegance, yet her face was as transparent as ice, fragile to the point of shattering. "Ask... ask me with whom I've entwined my neck..."

"Enough!!! Tell me why!"

Finally, his demeanor changed.

"Perhaps because I shared affection with him, or perhaps... just to humiliate you."

She continued smiling gently, her smile tinged with a seductive provocation.

"You... why?"

In his eyes, there was an unusual emotion—something called pain—as he gazed deeply at her.

"Why... perhaps only because I was unwilling to accept it..."

"Unwilling? You and I share the same blood. We should be naturally drawn to each other, so why this unwillingness? Do you not love me?"

Ye Rong slowly inched toward the corner of the bed, putting some distance between them, her elegantly arched brows lifting slightly, her lips curving faintly. Even her words seemed reluctantly squeezed out from between her teeth.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Perhaps I do love you, Roga... Perhaps I loved you a long, long time ago. But if you think this is a game of hunting for my heart, then there is no need, for my heart has long since belonged to you."

Her expression, cold and distant, even though he was so physically close to her, made it seem as if he could never truly reach her. The distance was insurmountable, her smile like a steel blade stabbing him, bringing an inexplicable, smothering pain. He spoke coldly, "Good! Very good!!"

She could not see the iron blue of his face, nor gauge what he was thinking.

But she knew he was angry, and her heart softened somewhat for the effort he put into restraining his anger, that hidden gentleness.

Yet, she ultimately spoke the most dreadful words.

"What you want is already gone—gone, Roga!"

Deep sorrow spread over her eyes like moonlight, and just like that, she dissipated his burgeoning anger. She drowned Roga, ensnared him. His hand, as if bewitched, slowly moved up her neck, then grasped it.

"I won't ask anymore, no more. Let us just be quiet, alright? No more arguments..."

He leaned in, kissing her lips—those translucent, ice-like lips that seemed to be on the verge of melting. She tried to push him away, fiercely, yet his gentle kiss made her arms instinctively wrap around his neck.

Yes, she still craved this tenderness, even knowing it was false—even knowing he no longer remembered her...

Late into the night, she listened to his long, slow breaths. He seemed unused to sharing a bed, sleeping restlessly, the quilt having been entirely kicked onto her side.

Ye Rong sat up quietly, listening to Roga's steady breathing, a hint of bitterness and tenderness appearing at her lips.

Perhaps, just as that lascivious yet gentle man had said that night in Guazhou, she still loved him. She had guarded this lonely love for six years.

As long as he gave her warmth, she would find herself unable to resist leaning towards it.

Perhaps... perhaps she had truly loved to the point of loneliness.

Maybe there was a chance for them to start over again—but was that possible?

Thinking thus, Ye Rong leaned back against the headboard, a faint, sorrowful smile on her lips as she closed her eyes.

It was dangerous—he had offered just a tiny bit of warmth, and she almost fell for it again.

She knew better than anyone that his tenderness was bound to fade, and his occasional, capricious warmth would only deepen her sense of desolation each time, until she could no longer endure living in solitude.

So she could no longer go on like this.

This time was the last time—the very last time she would indulge her heart...

Resolving thus in her mind, she turned her head toward the direction of his steady breathing, her gaze softening. She fumbled for the quilt by the bed and gently placed it over him.

Afterward, she rested her head against his chest, listening intently, hearing the firm, strong beat of his heart, each thud echoing in the depths of her soul.

Only then did a faintly sorrowful smile appear on her lips, her face like that of one about to cry. She slowly, slowly extended her hand toward him. Her fingers, trembling like white jade, were about to touch him when she abruptly sat up, curling into herself, eyes closing in pain—eyes that could never see again.

" Roga..."

Even knowing there was no future between them, she still clung to hope.

Now, she was covered in wounds, her blood still flowing from countless cuts, yet she had to drag her broken body onward. Her warmth was fading, like a dead tree fragment walking, leaving a trail of dark purple behind her, still wanting to grasp warmth, to catch the last heat of life.

But she had to keep going.

Even if she didn’t know the way, she had to keep moving.

She could not stop for him, only keep going.

The only certainty was to keep walking.

Walk... walk... until they drifted further and further apart.

But it was all because of him, the choice he had forced her to make...

She had no other path, because her retreat had long been sealed off. Fate had decreed they could never walk side by side, never be able to soothe each other's wounds.

Outside, the wind whistled past the vermilion pavilions and golden tiles of the nine-tiered palace, while the crane cries echoed unceasingly.

Meanwhile, Roga, asleep in bed, knew nothing of Ye Rong's heart having already flown far, far away—to a past he had forgotten...

Six years ago.

The day they met, Ye Rong was crying. With no other thoughts, she sat wearily beneath the hibiscus tree in the courtyard of Liu Fu Palace, crying aloud.

The sunlight pierced the dense leaves, turning cold as it fell upon her, but she paid it no attention, leaning against the rough tree trunk, covering her face with her wide sleeves as tears flowed unceasingly.

Crying, and crying still, she didn’t know when, but a faint sobbing sound not belonging to her reached her ears through the gentle air. It seemed the other person noticed too, as both of their sobbing slowly faded away.

Turning her head, she looked back.

Through her blurred tears, Ye Rong saw a boy on the other side of the tree. His delicate face seemed to merge with the sunlight, radiating a dazzling light through her tears.

Roga, too, looked curiously at the girl.

The girl’s eyes, though streaming with tears, were still gazing at him unwaveringly, without the slightest hint of retreat. Those tears, like melting pearls, gave him the illusion that she might disappear at any moment.

“Why are you crying?”

“Why are you crying?”

The silence did not last long. They spoke almost simultaneously, and their eyes met.

Ye Rong seemed to lack patience. She sulkily buried her head in her arms again. Her mood was at its lowest, and she had no desire to share her sorrow with a stranger.

Unfortunately, it seemed the boy was not perceptive.

“What is your name?”

Having finally found someone to confide in, Roga wiped away the tears that hadn’t yet dried on his face and spoke in a somewhat dejected tone.

A breeze blew, carrying the unique scent of hibiscus flowers. Amidst the rustling sound, Ye Rong could sense him sitting beside her, though she did not lift her face, nor did she speak with any enthusiasm.

“My name is Rong, like melting snow. And you?”

“I am Roga.”

The familiar name startled her, and she finally lifted her head. The boy in front of her had silky black hair tied with a golden crown, and his eyes were as clear as the sky, piercing straight to her heart. It was only then that she noticed the bright red handprint on Roga's face.

For some reason, her heart ached faintly, and even her tone softened.

“You still haven’t told me why you were crying.”

“My father doesn’t recognize me. He won’t even look at me. I got so angry that I called him a ‘madman,’ and I was slapped…”

“That’s really sad—you should cry.”

A hint of amusement glimmered in Ye Rong’s bright eyes, and she truly laughed aloud. She then reached out and gently touched the handprint on his cheek.

Such a radiant smile left Roga momentarily stunned.

“What about you? Why were you crying?”

As he asked, her hand withdrew slowly, wrapping back around herself. The sudden loss of that cold touch made Roga feel an inexplicable emptiness.

A trace of pain appeared in her clear eyes.

“My father told me my mother went far, far away, so I’ve been waiting for her to return.”

“What’s there to cry about?”

She slowly looked up. The sky was cloudless and blue, and sunlight streamed down, illuminating her face. The hibiscus, blooming fully in midsummer, wavered in a hazy hue beneath the sunlight.

Roga could see clearly that tears gathered in her eyes, as if covered with a thin veil, glistening and clear.

“But today, I heard the maids whispering, saying that my mother… is already dead.”

He rubbed his head awkwardly, losing the composure befitting the crown prince, reverting instead to the demeanor of a ten-year-old child. He fidgeted for a while, unsure what to say, before finally, somewhat clumsily, speaking.

“Ah, don’t cry. I have no father, you have no mother—together we make a pair.”

Looking at the handsome boy before her, his gentle, sincere smile, Ye Rong closed her eyes for a moment. Her lashes, like black butterfly wings, trembled slightly, then she curved her lips again, offering him a smile far beyond her age, serene and composed.

“Fool, His Majesty is still alive, at least he lives.”

“But isn’t that just the same as being dead?”

He bit his lip, his expression darkening again, like a sunny sky suddenly overcast with clouds.

“Don’t say that. As long as he’s alive, there’s hope.”

Perhaps it was a moment of impulse, but she reached out and hugged Roga, holding him tightly with her slender frame.

Slowly, Roga extended his arms, wrapping them around her in return. He held her tightly, as if trying to meld her into his own body.

Finally, there was someone to share his sorrow, someone before whom he could reveal his vulnerability without fear.

That was what their hearts told them as they held each other.

Holding her firmly, Roga could feel her faint scent—a mix of sweet fragrance and the pure aroma of a young girl—seeping into his clothes, gradually erasing the overwhelming fragrance of dragon musk that seemed impossible to escape in the Palace of Qianshe.

Her warmth, too, spread through the sunlit garden, softly enveloping him…

“Princess! Princess!! Princess!!!”

A sudden, urgent call from the distance sent a flicker of panic through his heart. On instinct, his arm encircled her slender shoulder, pulling her closer.

“Who are you?”

Hold her… this girl who radiated warmth like the sun. If he let go, he would lose his sunlight…

Sensing his dependence, Ye Rong instinctively wrapped her arm around his neck, lifting her head to meet his soft, tender face.

“I need to go home now, or my father will be worried,” she said gently. “As for me, I am Ye Rong, of the House of Ye.”

“Ye Rong, my sister?!”

Ye Rong of the House of Ye…

For a moment, Roga could not discern if it was shock, sorrow, or some other emotion surging within him. He stared blankly at the girl he held, suddenly realizing she could never belong to him.

Despair… for the first time, he felt it so keenly.

Rising from his embrace, Ye Rong’s luxurious silken gown rustled softly against the hibiscus tree as she moved.

Then, she looked at the boy still sitting dazed beneath the tree, sighed softly, and smiled gently.

“Fool, since you kept me company today, let me share a secret with you: my father is not His Majesty, so we are not siblings.”

“What?!”

Roga stared at her, his mouth agape, taking a long while to utter a single word. The intense midday sun caused his blood to rush to his head as he looked up.

“Fool!!!”

She laughed, sprinting away, her small figure gilded by the golden sunlight.

A gentle breeze swept in, carrying with it a lingering, subtle fragrance.