In the Quiet Elegance Palace, the warmth of the brazier radiated softly through the intricate patterns of the gilt furnace, banishing any trace of winter’s gloom.

At this moment, Emperor Roga reclined lazily in a red sandalwood armchair, his lips curled in a faint, inscrutable smile as he gazed at Consort Wu.

She leaned close to him, her silk gown of delicate butterfly weave flowing like ripples of water. A sheer peach-hued shawl draped her shoulders, and a jade-hued sash accentuated her willowy waist. Her ink-black hair, adorned with a jade hairpin, shimmered with a soft, luminescent gleam.

With fingers as delicate as young onion shoots, she brushed a lock of his hair by his temple. Covering her lips with a coy smile, she spoke in her soft, melodious voice:“Your Majesty, I personally chilled these green grapes in the well water for you. Please, have a taste.”

“They’re delicious. You’ve put much thought into this, my dear consort,” he replied, offering a shallow smile. Yet upon closer inspection, one would notice his eyes betrayed not a hint of genuine joy.

Unaware or unwilling to notice his indifference, Consort Wu redoubled her efforts, her gaze weaving a silken thread of allure. Leaning closer, she murmured:“To remain at Your Majesty’s side and bring you happiness is my greatest fortune. I would gladly exhaust all my efforts to do so.”

With her words, a captivating smile bloomed on her lips, as alluring as a flower bathed in moonlight. She reached out to encircle his neck, her soft lips brushing his forehead, then his eyes, and his nose, inching ever closer to his lips—

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” A frantic voice shattered the intimate scene. He Qian stumbled in, disregarding protocol, his face flushed as he knelt hurriedly. Mustering his courage, he stammered:“Your Majesty, a message from the Ningye Palace—Her Majesty the Empress… she has suffered a miscarriage!”

Roga’s expression remained impassive, though a shadow seemed to flit across his features. Gently, he pushed Consort Wu aside and asked in an even tone, “Is that so?”

“The imperial physician, Li, reports that Her Majesty may… may never bear children again.”

Straightening her garments, Consort Wu stepped back demurely, her gaze fixed on Roga. His calm, emotionless eyes met hers, causing her to tremble ever so slightly.

The Emperor’s gaze was empty, devoid of warmth or sorrow—an abyss untouched by the waves of sentiment.

He rose and walked past her to the window. Outside, the plum blossoms, battered by the bitter cold, had begun to wither, their once-vibrant petals tinged with a lifeless gray.

Consort Wu’s heart swelled with a secret elation, unfurling layer by layer as she watched the emperor’s composed silhouette.

Adorned in his winged crown, his golden robes embroidered with twelve dragons in shimmering threads, and his belt set with translucent jade, he stood unmoved by the biting wind, exuding an air of regal aloofness.

Her heart churned with unspoken thoughts, yet none of it surfaced. Instead, she approached him gracefully, gently clasping his arm as she whispered with a trace of pleading sweetness:“Your Majesty, it may not be appropriate to visit Her Majesty tonight. Why not rest here and wait until tomorrow to see her?”

Her voice, like a delicate strand of silk, carried an intoxicating charm that seeped into the marrow. “Stay here tonight. I shall take my rest in the side chamber.”

“Very well,” he replied coldly, his gaze falling once more on the fading flowers.

Outside, the moon cast its icy radiance on the ground, painting the earth with an ethereal glow.

Never had he seen her cry. But tonight, he wondered, would her tears fall beneath the heavens, or upon the dust of the mortal world?

As the thought crossed his mind, his thin lips curled into a faint, enigmatic smile.

By afternoon, sunlight streamed through the latticework windows, its golden hues falling on the purple sandalwood bed. Each floating speck of dust glimmered in its rays, suspended in silent, languid descent.

The once-quiet Ningye Palace now teemed with palace attendants, their faces pale and downcast as they moved with hushed steps. When Roga entered, they knelt instantly, their heads bowed low.

“Greetings, Your Majesty.”

On the bed lay Empress Ye Rong, her face ashen, her eyes closed. Her long lashes rested against her cheeks like butterfly wings, casting faint shadows over the hollows beneath. Her brows knitted in evident pain, betraying her otherwise stoic composure.

Hearing the murmur of attendants, her lips quivered slightly, the pale hue of a lotus flower briefly touched by a faint blush. Her serenity remained steadfast, though it bore the weight of immense suffering.

Roga gestured for the attendants to withdraw. Sitting by her side, he attempted a calm demeanor, clearing his throat softly before speaking.“How is your health?”

Without opening her eyes, she replied in a voice brittle and fragmented, like ice cracking beneath a heavy tread:“I’m fine.”

Her hoarse words pierced his heart like splintered glass.

Sighing, he reached for her hand, holding it tenderly as he whispered, “I know you’re grieving. Can we not speak, just once, like an ordinary couple?”

Adjusting her blanket, he reached to smooth her disheveled hair, but she turned her head away at his touch.

Her expression, etched with a trace of cold detachment, seemed as unyielding as the frost.

The sunlight, filtering through the delicate bed curtains, bathed her pale face in a faint, rosy glow.

Finally, she opened her eyes, casting him a fleeting, scornful smile that disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared.

“Children… are not the only way forward,” he murmured, grasping her hand more tightly.

She withdrew her hand, her lashes veiling her gaze, and replied in a voice devoid of warmth, “As Your Majesty says.”

Yet the distance between them was vast—an uncrossable chasm of unspoken pain.

Sunlight filtered through the gauzy bed curtains, scattering lightly, casting a soft halo of pale light beneath the crimson folds.

She opened her eyes seemingly by chance, turning toward him. A faint, mocking smile brushed her pale lips, heavy with derision.

Roga felt a momentary sense of confusion. When he tried to focus on her expression, the smile had already vanished.

He could only grasp her hand tightly, holding it in his palm as he murmured,“The child is gone, and so be it. You still have me. In truth, isn’t it better this way, without a child?”

She withdrew her hand, lowering her gaze with an air of humility, and replied in a detached tone, “Your Majesty speaks the truth.”

A helpless smile lingered on Roga’s lips. Absentmindedly, he reached out, brushing his hand across her cheek. Her skin, delicate and cold, carried no warmth at all.

She flinched, her dark eyes opening wide like ink spilled across a white canvas. Her gaze locked with his, deep as an unfathomable abyss, glimmering faintly in the light, as though her soul lay hidden behind glassy beads.

Yet, he could not decipher her thoughts, just as she seemed unable to truly see him.

He leaned closer, searching her face, but she averted her eyes once more. Her long lashes quivered slightly, casting shadows on her pallid skin. In that fleeting moment, she appeared as fragile as a butterfly caught in the wind, delicate enough to shatter.

Roga felt something soft yet heavy pressing against his chest—grief, perhaps, or longing, entangled and chaotic. He stiffly turned his head, finding no trace of sorrow in her eyes.

A soft voice broke the silence—He Du’s voice:“Your Majesty, it is time for the Empress to take her medicine.”

“What medicine?”

“Your Majesty, it is a tonic prescribed by Imperial Physician Li to calm her spirit and strengthen her health.”

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He took the bowl and personally fed her the medicine.

Gradually, she drifted into sleep.

He held her hand, unwilling to let go, and eventually, he too rested his head against the bedside and fell asleep.

One drop, then another—something warm fell onto his face.

When he looked up, the world was veiled in mist. In a hazy dream, the hibiscus tree stood lush and green, her silhouette clad in a flowing azure gown beneath its boughs.

The blossoms were crimson, radiant in their splendor. His vision blurred, half enraptured, half intoxicated, wrapped in the surreal.

“Roga… Roga… you have betrayed me…” Her voice echoed, accompanied by tear-filled eyes that shimmered like water, a fleeting silhouette against the light. “I entrusted my heart to the wrong person…”

He reached out, but her image splintered into a kaleidoscope of vivid shards.

The figure disappeared, but the voice lingered, mournful and haunting, resonating in his ears.

Still, something warm trickled onto his face—one drop, then another.

Each tear, heavy with sorrow, seeped into his very bones, bringing a grief beyond words.

He cried out,“Rong… Rong!”

Jerking awake, he felt disoriented, as though the dream was more real than his waking world.

He lifted himself, the awkward position leaving his neck stiff and aching. Outside, the sun had dipped below the horizon, and the palace was alight with flickering candles.

The wavering flames painted the room in a surreal glow, blurring the line between dream and reality. He blinked hard, trying to steady himself, and turned to see that Ye Rong had already propped herself up against an intricately embroidered cushion.

Her gaze, icy as ever, extinguished the faint hope flickering within him. In that instant, clarity returned, and with it, the crushing weight of unspoken pain.

“Your Majesty,” she said at last, her voice calm and detached, “Did you dream of something?”

Her tone betrayed nothing, yet he thought he saw her shoulders tremble faintly, her profile etched with an air of quiet expectation.

Roga, assuming it was grief for the lost child, bit his lip and lowered his head, uncertain how to respond.

She was wrapped in a pale lotus-hued quilt, embroidered with delicate snow phoenixes in flight, their foreheads marked with a faint crimson, as if poised to soar.

Some things cannot be kept; some cannot remain. The celestial bird of legend could not belong to this mortal realm, just as his child was no longer within his grasp.

Lost in thought, he failed to notice the crystalline pain glimmering beneath her frosty gaze, a sorrow as fragile and transparent as ice.

Consumed by his own guilt and endless regret, he remained blind to her silent suffering.

Suddenly, he raised his head, cupping her face in his hands as he searched her eyes.

Her gaze rose to meet his—those inky depths laced with a cold, piercing brilliance that felt almost familiar, yet struck him anew.

In his haze, he thought he saw her tear-streaked face once more, but as he looked closer, her eyes had already closed.

“If Your Majesty has awakened, perhaps you should rest elsewhere. The Ningye Palace is not suited for your comfort,” she said softly, her lips parting as though to say more, but Roga pressed a trembling hand to her mouth.

“Don’t speak. Please…” he whispered.

Taking her hand, he buried his face in her palm and murmured,“Rong… I know… I’ve made so many mistakes. The child is gone, and even if there are no children in the future, I don’t mind. Let’s forget everything else—let’s just… live well together. Please?”

She flinched, attempting to pull her hand away, but he held it firmly.

Bringing her slender, icy fingers to his lips, he kissed them gently, over and over, as though trying to recapture something long lost.

She froze, startled by the gesture—one he had often made in the distant past.

Between the distant past and the present, so much had transpired that turning back was no longer possible. Too much had been lost, and now, no matter what was done, nothing could undo the damage.

Between them, there was no longer any hope of redemption.

Roga raised his eyes to Ye Rong. In the flickering candlelight, her gaze seemed to take on a warm amber hue. She lowered her eyes, softly curling her pale lips into a smile.

Though her expression remained icy, that smile seemed to strip away all her usual coldness, revealing something beneath—a version of her he had never known.

Roga stared, momentarily stunned. This unfamiliar side of her caught him unprepared.

Believing he saw a chance, he finally voiced the words he had kept buried in his heart:“There are so many things I’ve done wrong—wrong for my mother, wrong for this throne. I was wrong in every way… But please, forgive me. Forgive me, won’t you? I don’t want us to continue like this, tearing each other apart, bleeding until there’s nothing left. So…”

He sighed deeply, the sound heavy with pain he could no longer suppress. Suddenly, he pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her as though he could thaw the icy chill that seemed to emanate from her.

She sank into his arms, his warmth searing, almost as if he were offering her his very heart.

“I’m sorry… Rong…” he whispered, his face buried in the curve of her frail shoulder, his voice laden with remorse. His arms tightened around her emaciated waist, as though by holding her closer, he could undo the harm he had caused.

He leaned in, his lips brushing hers with the gentlest warmth, a tenderness uniquely his.

“I love you, Rong… But my love for you has only brought you pain… And yet, loving you has been my own torment as well. So, let’s stop thinking about everything else. Let it be just us—just the two of us, living quietly together.”

Ye Rong’s heart wavered. Her body, so honest, offered no resistance, accepting his kiss and his embrace.

As his lips pressed against hers, she felt the depth of his apology in every touch, as though he was pouring his soul into his regret.

Her hands remained by her sides, tightly gripping the edge of the blanket. After a long pause, she finally spoke:“There’s nothing to forgive. And nothing to refuse forgiveness for… Some things in life simply don’t go the way we wish. Even if it shreds one’s heart to pieces, some things still must be done.”

Roga continued to hold her tightly, his voice hoarse as he replied, “I never meant to hurt you, but… some things, I had no choice but to do!”

It wasn’t until her violent coughing began that he seemed to snap out of it, loosening his grip in alarm.

Her face, already pale, turned ghostly white as the coughs wracked her body. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead like water soaking into her skin. Yet, even in such a state, her expression remained devoid of warmth, her features as emotionless as ice.

A bitter taste filled his throat. The haze clouding his mind moments before had now completely dissipated, leaving a stark clarity in its wake.

“Why won’t you cry? Why won’t you scream at me? You know, don’t you? You know! Cry, please—cry, so I know you’re still alive!”

He realized he had never once seen her lose composure. She was always so quiet, so indifferent, like a statue. No—perhaps even a statue possessed more warmth than she did.

And yet, it was this very version of her that had stolen his heart.

His eyes, his heart, his very soul were all consumed by her, screaming in agony. Yet, not a single sound escaped his lips.

Then, he saw the faint watermarks spreading on the pale lotus-hued quilt.

Touching his face, he realized his own fingertips had grown as cold as hers. Yet, colder still were his tears, spilling silently from his eyes—chilling, like his heart.

She started, as though sensing something, her brows knitting ever so slightly.

“Has the weather changed? Why is it so cold?”

He turned to the window, where the bright lanterns hanging from the eaves shone through a veil of snow. Outside, the snow fell relentlessly, swirling in the wind and gathering on the delicate lattice of the window screen.

“It’s snowing,” he said softly.

She nodded, then looked at him with a sorrowful smile. “Sometimes, I truly hate it—your calmness, your indifference.”

She turned her gaze to him, her pale face tinged with a faint gray, like faded rouge. Her icy eyes swept over him, carrying the softness of snow yet chilling to the bone. “You cry—I cannot see. You laugh—I cannot see. Your joy, your sorrow—I see none of it. Even my own child’s loss—I cannot see it. It’s not indifference, Roga. It’s not apathy. I simply… cannot see.”

As a child, her father had once told her that old wounds always ached more when it snowed.

He was right. It hurt—terribly so.

Her eyes felt as though they were being torn apart, the pain as raw and vivid as life itself.

It was true. The pain was real, sharp, and searing.

It felt as though his eyes were being torn apart, exposing a raw, unrelenting agony.

“I’m sorry… I, I…” he stammered, his voice trembling.

In that moment, he forgot his dignity, his composure shattered. Like a lost child, he held her tightly, kissing her clumsily, scattering tender, fragmented kisses along the corners of her lips.

She gently pushed him away, sighing softly—a sound that reminded him of snowflakes descending silently from the sky.

“Back then… before the late Emperor passed… I saw you,” she said quietly.

“I don’t remember,” he replied.

She reclined gracefully in the shadows, her beauty tinged with elegance and allure. Beneath her eyes, the rouge-colored flowers seemed to radiate a cold, piercing brilliance—like arrows forged from ice, slicing deep into his heart.

He shuddered slightly, yet a faint smile lingered on his lips. His voice, however, dropped to a hoarse whisper, laden with exhaustion. Though his tears had long since dried, he still could not fathom the depths of her heart. All he could see was the faint curve of her lips, etched with resigned sorrow.

“Of course, you wouldn’t remember.”

What he discarded so easily became a lifelong memory for her.

Back then, Roga was still a young man, brimming with idealism and unyielding pride. Yet, when he saw her, he would smile—a genuine smile. He would blush, he would be tender.

And back then, she, too, carried her own pride but reserved all her affection solely for him.

Now… now, they probed each other’s vulnerabilities, wounding each other in ways that left no hope for reconciliation.

“The you and I of the past were more alike than the people we are now. Today, you and I… there’s no need to speak of it. With the throne under you, with power in your grasp, would you let it all go? Would you roam freely beneath the heavens, casting aside the schemes and betrayals? You wouldn’t. You can’t. And because of that, you have no right to demand anything further of me. The Buddha says that cause and effect are intertwined. The seeds you sowed have borne their fruit.”

Roga’s gaze burned with intensity as he looked at Ye Rong. Flames of emotion flared in his eyes as they traced her disheveled strands of hair, falling across her forehead like shadows of concealed grief. Slowly, ever so slowly, he raised his hand toward her, only to stop short just as his fingers were about to touch her.

The faint smile on his lips carried a trace of bitterness, an unspoken sorrow, dark and heavy as twilight.

“Without power, without position, I would be no more than a stray dog. Now, though I may never have your heart, I can still keep your presence,” he murmured.

She remained silent, as did he.

All she had ever sought was no more than an illusion, a fragile dream that he had neither cherished nor cared to understand.

Roga’s deep eyes flickered like candlelight, their wavering glow betraying his inner turmoil. At last, he rose, as though preparing to leave.

But she caught his sleeve, her voice soft yet resolute:“May I ask Your Majesty for one thing?”

“Speak.”

“The Liufu Palace—it is remote and ominous. I had someone cast divinations, and it was that very palace that cursed my child. So… please, Your Majesty, issue a decree… tear it down.”

He did not move, standing with his back to her. Slowly, he felt her fingers slide down his sleeve, relinquishing their hold.

For the first time, when he spoke to her, his voice was low, cloaked in a veneer of measured calm.

“Very well… I grant your request.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

He had already abandoned her, as she had long since abandoned him. Yet still, she prayed silently to the heavens, wishing him peace and health—until the day he would lose everything.

A slow, icy smile graced her lips.

Outside, snow danced in the air, winter’s chill deepening, seeping through to the marrow.