AEGA CH8

The weather was always the most fickle thing. One moment the sky was as clear as washed jade; the next, dark clouds gathered in an instant. Then came a pattering drizzle, which quickly turned into a torrential downpour, growing wilder by the second. The storm merged with the weeping inside the Cold Palace—cries that had shifted from quiet endurance to profound grief—as if heaven itself were weeping alongside the beauty’s tears.

In the courtyard, the leaves rustled loudly against the wind. The rain battered the begonias, causing petals to drift from the branches into the dirt, leaving a scattering of ruined crimson across the ground, carrying a hint of tragic beauty.

Cold rain tapped against the window; outside were raindrops, while inside were teardrops. Xie Chongjin held and coaxed the person in his arms, capturing a slender, pale wrist to kiss the fingertips, trailing kisses all the way up to the lips, as if licking the wounds of an injured little beast.

On the couch, their silhouettes overlapped. Silky black hair was strewn in wild disarray, and two pairs of long, beautiful hands were tightly intertwined, fingers locked together. Lu Xuechao’s eyes were misty and shimmering, bearing the resemblance of intoxication. His brow was slightly furrowed, and his snow-pale skin was flushed with a thin layer of rose—more delicate and pitiable than the begonias trampled in the mud. He was held entirely within the other’s embrace, leaving only a sliver of his porcelain ankle exposed.

As the candle shadows flickered red, Xie Chongjin felt the soft couch was too small. Midway through, he lifted Lu Xuechao up, bypassed the mica screen, parted the bead curtains, and gently laid him down amidst the soft gauze netting of the bed. The bedstead was crafted from fine jade, naturally warm in winter and cool in summer, spacious and comfortable. The silken quilts were soft, all of them choice tributes. Xie Chongjin had personally ordered it custom-made for Lu Xuechao, solely out of fear that he would sleep uncomfortably in the Cold Palace.

And it was not just the bed. Every brick, tile, blade of grass, and tree in this Cold Palace had been added by Xie Chongjin one by one, transforming a desolate, bleak landscape into a place of everlasting spring. Xie Chongjin had initially wanted to remove the plaque bearing the words “Cold Palace” and change it to the “Palace of Layered Snow,” but to no avail—it was as if this palace were hard-coded into existence; it could only be called the Cold Palace, and he was physically unable to issue an order to change it.

However, by now, apart from that plaque, the Cold Palace retained absolutely no trace of its former bleakness from top to bottom.

Within the curtains, they loved each other with a desperate fervor.

—

In their youth, Xie Chongjin and Lu Xuechao had studied together. When they read Li Yu’s Lang Tao Sha Ling, both being matchless prodigies with photographic memories, they could recite the poem by heart after a single glance, and they still remembered it in full to this day:

Outside the curtain, the rain patters, and spring is waning.

The silk quilt cannot withstand the chill of the fifth watch.

In my dream, I forget that I am but a guest, indulging in a moment of fleeting joy.

Do not lean on the balcony alone; the endless rivers and mountains are vast.

Parting is easy, but meeting again is hard.

Like flowing water and falling blossoms, spring passes away—to heaven, or to the world of men.

Only back then, the nation was at peace, prosperity bloomed like brocade, and the two golden, noble, wild, and proud youths would merely sigh a few words after reading it. They could not truly comprehend the tragic desolation of a fallen monarch, nor did they ever believe their country of Changli would fall to such a state.

Since then, lifetime after lifetime, the emperor’s bed never again held Lu Xuechao. The mandarin duck tiles are cold, weighed down by heavy frost; the emerald quilt is chilly, with whom can it be shared? What one thinks of by day, one dreams of by night. Xie Chongjin yearned for Lu Xuechao day in and day out, and only in his dreams could he meet him night after night. Thus, he came to understand: “The silk quilt cannot withstand the chill of the fifth watch. In my dream, I forget that I am but a guest, indulging in a moment of fleeting joy.” After Lu Xuechao died an unnatural death, Xie Chongjin sat alone on the throne as a puppet emperor until Changli fell. When he walked up the high city walls alone, preparing to sacrifice his life for his country, he looked out at the fractured mountains and rivers, the beacon smoke rising from all sides. His old love had long turned to dust, his homeland had become a foreign territory, and he finally understood: “Do not lean on the balcony alone; the endless rivers and mountains are vast. Parting is easy, but meeting again is hard.”

When one first hears the tune, one does not understand its meaning; when one hears it again, one is already the person in the song.

Fortunately, this time was not a fleeting joy in a dream.

Perhaps because it had been too long since he last tasted intimacy, Lu Xuechao’s responses were unpracticed, yet his actions were passionate. Xie Chongjin remembered that Lu Xuechao used to be extremely shy in bed, always closing his eyes, not daring to look at him. Back when they were newly wed, the Crown Prince, who loved to tease his childhood friend, would always coax him: “Qingshu, open your eyes and look at me. Look who is loving you.”

The Crown Prince’s Consort would then flush a deep red and curse softly: “A beast in human clothing, utterly unworthy of being a true gentleman.”

The Crown Prince would laugh: “Why should I act like a gentleman toward my own consort? Naturally, I am going to be a beast, and I won’t even wear the clothes.”

The Crown Prince’s Consort would hold it in for a long time before snapping: “…Put some clothes on.”

Then the Crown Prince would collapse with laughter onto his consort.

Now, without needing Xie Chongjin to tease him, Lu Xuechao kept his eyes wide open, silently gazing at his features illuminated by the candlelight, reluctant to blink even once. Alternating between pleasure and strain, tears were forced from his eyes, yet his reddened eyes still stared directly at him, refusing to look away.

Xie Chongjin laughed hoarsely, “Is Qingshu looking at me like this because it has been too long since you last saw me? I don’t look good right now; I must look haggard and listless. On the contrary, now that Qingshu has fully grown, you are so beautiful I almost dare not look.”

Lu Xuechao looked at him and said softly, “Since our parting, I have longed for our reunion. How many times have our souls met in dreams? Tonight, I keep the silver lamp burning bright, still fearing that this meeting is but a dream.”

Xie Chongjin’s heart ached with sadness, and he held Lu Xuechao even tighter.

He let out a low laugh, “Then I shall let you look your fill.”

__

The rain outside the window gradually subsided, and the clouds and rain within the curtains came to an end. Xie Chongjin embraced Lu Xuechao from behind, utterly unwilling to let go, acting even more inseparable than when they were newly wed.

A brief separation is better than a honeymoon, let alone the fact that their separation had spanned countless lifetimes of life-and-death partings. Naturally, no amount of intimacy could ever feel like enough.

Having just passionately vented their feelings, the two finally calmed down enough to talk about serious matters.

“These three years have wronged you,” Xie Chongjin asked. “Have you suffered any hardships? Did the palace servants neglect you?”

Because he was controlled by others, he had been unable to see Lu Xuechao in person. He could only command the servants that they must not neglect the deposed empress and must still respect and serve him as if he were the reigning empress, with his food and clothing matching the empress’s standard. Out of guilt, he didn’t keep any good things for his own enjoyment, sending them to the Cold Palace at the very first opportunity.

If anyone were to ask who lived the most lavish life in the palace, it wasn’t the emperor, nor was it the universally acknowledged most-favored Noble Consort Liu, but rather the deposed empress in the Cold Palace.

But even though his instructions covered every detail, Xie Chongjin could not see it with his own eyes, so he constantly worried whether his subordinates were complying outwardly while flouting him inwardly, or if they were embezzling funds. He worried daily about whether Lu Xuechao was living well.

“You’ve practically turned this Cold Palace into a wonderland; what hardships could I possibly suffer?” Lu Xuechao leaned lazily against Xie Chongjin and said calmly, “Aside from not being able to see you, nothing was bad.”

A single sentence pierced Xie Chongjin’s heart like a knife once more: “Qingshu…”

“There is no need for self-reproach,” Lu Xuechao said. “I know you were helpless. I have never blamed you.”

Xie Chongjin had never concealed his preference—or rather, his exclusive love—for Lu Xuechao, displaying it blatantly.

After Xie Chongjin was controlled, his front foot had just thrown Lu Xuechao into the Cold Palace, and his back foot brought a construction crew to completely renovate the Cold Palace from top to bottom. It was no worse than the Palace of Layered Snow where Lu Xuechao used to live, and the meals were always the best, without any harsh treatment. In past worlds, if the one being manipulated was Lin Chanzhi, and Lin Chanzhi framed Lu Xuechao, Xie Chongjin would be forced by an irresistible force to punish him. Yet he would only ever give the lightest punishment of confinement, and would openly move into the Palace of Layered Snow to keep him company, offering all kinds of apologies and comfort. Later on, probably out of fear that the cruel, envious, and murderous Lin Chanzhi would lay a hand on Lu Xuechao, he distanced himself, carefully protecting him.

Their world was bound by invisible rules; they were all caged birds wearing shackles, unable to love the person they wanted to love at will. But within the boundaries of those rules, Xie Chongjin was loving him to the absolute maximum.

Lu Xuechao knew all of this.

Lu Xuechao asked, “How did you know you weren’t yourself?”

“Does that even need to be asked?” Lu Xuechao replied, “I don’t believe my judgment is so poor that I could misjudge someone since childhood and fall in love with a fickle man. Moreover, even if you stopped loving me, you wouldn’t throw the nation and its people to the back of your mind and do something as absurd as boycotting court assemblies. That is absolutely not the Xie Huaiyun I know, not the Crown Prince who possessed grand ambitions in his youth.”

Xie Chongjin gripped his hand, resting his chin on Lu Xuechao’s shoulder, “I will never stop loving you. Even hypotheses are not allowed.”

Lu Xuechao looked down at their joined hands, “I have finished answering. Your turn. How were you controlled, and how did you regain your freedom?”

He had strived through so many lifetimes and had failed to find any method other than death to make Xie Chongjin break free from control. What anomaly had occurred in this lifetime?

—

Starting from the moment he wanted to grant a general amnesty but ended up writing the edict to depose the empress, Xie Chongjin recounted everything that had been out of his control since his ascension to the throne, detail by detail, as if he were delivering an official report. These were things he had desperately wanted to tell Lu Xuechao before but was unable to voice due to the restrictions. Now that the restriction had finally vanished, he naturally had to say it all out in one breath.

During his report, Xie Chongjin placed heavy emphasis on the fact that he had not touched any of those male concubines or consorts—not a single one.

This caught Lu Xuechao a bit by surprise.

He had long known that Xie Chongjin was acting against his own will, and that lingering in the harem all day was the controller’s intention. He had already accepted the fact that Xie Chongjin had shared intimate relations with many people.

Lu Xuechao was naturally unhappy about it. Who would want their lover’s body to be touched by others? Furthermore, this was not of Xie Chongjin’s own volition, which made it a profound agony and humiliation for Xie Chongjin.

In past worlds, the controller would also manipulate Xie Chongjin to favor Lu Xuechao, completely disregarding the time and place. Sometimes Xie Chongjin would skip the morning court to indulge in daytime intimacy with Lu Xuechao. Lu Xuechao didn’t truly want it in his heart, and Xie Chongjin didn’t want it either. But seeing Xie Chongjin’s pained and unbearable expression, as if he were fighting against the effects of an aphrodisiac and could not find release, Lu Xuechao’s heart would soften, and he would indulge him.

He knew this wasn’t Huaiyun truly wanting him, but since he could resolve it, why let Huaiyun suffer?

Therefore, even if Xie Chongjin favored others, Lu Xuechao would only hate the controller. Xie Chongjin was controlled; he understood.

He would force himself to understand.

Yet Xie Chongjin said he hadn’t touched a single one.

“You were able to resist the control back then?”

“I could. At most, that controller could choose people for my bed, but they couldn’t force me to personally carry out the intimate acts. At those times, it felt like I had been drugged with an aphrodisiac; enduring it was rather agonizing, but enduring it wouldn’t kill me. If enduring it would kill me, then I might as well have died. Living without control is meaningless anyway, and I absolutely will not touch anyone other than you.” Xie Chongjin spoke those words with absolute certainty, gritting his teeth as he said, “That controller kept flipping name tags every single day as if they had never seen a man before, and I was drugged every single day. It was truly unbearable. Of course, I absolutely wouldn’t let anyone get close to me. At most, I would think of your face and resolve it myself to barely scrape through… Happening night after night, it was truly difficult to get any peaceful sleep. Because of this, the dark circles under my eyes made it look like I was overindulging, leaving me with a grievance I had nowhere to voice.”

Xie Chongjin began to sound aggrieved as he spoke, “Qingshu, that passion we just shared was the very first time in three years that I didn’t hold back.”

His tone when speaking of these things wasn’t heavy. This string of complaints sounded as though he had merely suffered a minor grievance and was eager to act spoiled with his lover, while the matter itself was nothing major.

Lu Xuechao knew that it had not been easy for him.

These three years had drastically altered Xie Chongjin’s disposition, compounded by that long, painful dream last night. His entire being had already become gloomy, cold, and heavily laden with hostility; he could never return to the proud, unbridled youth he once was.

Xie Chongjin didn’t want to display this side of himself in front of Lu Xuechao, fearing he might scare him, and he didn’t want to make Lu Xuechao feel bad. He hoped that in front of Lu Xuechao, he would forever remain that bright, arrogant Crown Prince gege full of youthful spirit, looking as though he had never suffered any hardships.

But how could this ever be hidden from Lu Xuechao?

Lu Xuechao checked his pulse, his brow furrowing, “No wonder your complexion doesn’t look like a sign of kidney deficiency or yin depletion, but rather long-term emotional stagnation and lack of sleep.”

While he was glad that Xie Chongjin hadn’t touched anyone else, the moment he thought of the torment and endurance Xie Chongjin had suffered for it, he couldn’t bring himself to be happy anymore.

During those years, Huaiyun must not have had a single night of good sleep.

Xie Chongjin was surprised, “Since when did you learn medicine?”

He and Lu Xuechao had grown up together; how did he not know that Lu Xuechao understood medicine?

“You had the entire Imperial Library’s books moved to my place. There are plenty of medical texts inside; isn’t that enough for me to become a self-taught talent?” Lu Xuechao said.

When he was confined to the Cold Palace, Xie Chongjin feared he would be bored, so he found many books for him to read. Astronomy, geography, mystical mechanics, herbal identification, and folk stories—there was everything. Lu Xuechao had read them all and mastered most of them.

Of course, no matter how gifted a prodigy he was, it wasn’t something he could master simply by reading books; this was the accumulation of knowledge from countless lifetimes. In worlds where Lu Xuechao hadn’t been thrown into the Cold Palace, he would seek out talented individuals across the land to learn from, and often visited the Imperial Academy of Medicine to consult the imperial physicians. Having many skills wouldn’t weigh him down; the more he knew, the greater his chances of winning against the mastermind controller.

Xie Chongjin was momentarily speechless, “Since childhood, the Grand Tutor always praised you for your intelligence. At first, I refused to accept it, but now I truly feel inferior.”

“You haven’t finished speaking. How did you regain your freedom?” Lu Xuechao reminded him.

Xie Chongjin fell silent.

He hadn’t decided whether to tell the absolute truth.

From the memorial he had obtained—which he preferred to call a heavenly book—and the dream he had last night, he roughly knew of the existence of “players.” He knew their world was being treated as a game, and they were all merely actors in a play, toyed with at will by the players.

He also knew that they had more than just this lifetime; there were thousands upon thousands of past lifetimes before this, most of which ended tragically.

Xie Chongjin felt a piercing pain in his heart, both from the ridiculous fate of being toyed with in the palm of someone’s hand, and because in those worlds, Lu Xuechao had suffered far too much.

Qingshu was clearly someone who was so afraid of pain.

Yet in those worlds, he had died over and over again, and most of those deaths were by orders Xie Chongjin had personally handed down. Those overwhelming, shocking colors of blood caused Xie Chongjin to tremble all over whenever he thought of them.

What he was most grateful for after waking up was that the Qingshu of this world had not yet experienced the horrors from that dream.

He hadn’t died suddenly from mysterious causes, nor had he been sentenced to death by his own hand. He didn’t want Lu Xuechao to know about any of those tragic experiences.

Memories that were too painful were better borne by him alone.

However, Lu Xuechao was exceptionally clever, and he understood Xie Chongjin all too well. Seeing Xie Chongjin’s hesitation, he asked, “Have you also awakened?”

Xie Chongjin was startled, “Awakened?”

Lu Xuechao said calmly, “I had a dream just now, and I dreamed of the memories of all our past lifetimes.”

The arms holding him tightly suddenly constricted. Lu Xuechao could feel the body behind him freeze instantly.

“Huaiyun?”

Xie Chongjin said nothing, only holding Lu Xuechao tightly in complete silence.

Lu Xuechao paused, then said, “Don’t cry.”

“Didn’t I say it already? I have never blamed you, and that doesn’t just apply to these past three years.”

“Besides, you ordered my death, and I stabbed you to death. Neither of us owes the other…”

“…”

Lu Xuechao sighed softly, “Forget it, go ahead and cry.”