Chapter 53 “Let the Moon Set in the West”

Chapter 53: "Let the Bright Moon Set Beyond the Western Tower"

Everywhere my gaze fell, I saw the devastation from three years ago. The past flowed slowly, and I still remembered the thrill and bashfulness I felt handing that letter to Xie Yan. Back then, I carefully cradled a sincere heart, eager to offer it to him, only for it to be utterly misplaced. So, why did Xie Yan keep this letter, even occasionally taking it out to savor? What was his mindset? Was he silently mocking me in his heart, a wretched, foolish simpleton?

I didn’t know.

My heart was now almost numb, filled only with an unresolvable vendetta for my father. As for everything else—be it affection or love—they were not things a fool like me could aspire to.

I was tired.

Truth be told, the story between Xie Yan and me was much like a monkey fishing for the moon. A mischievous monkey gazed longingly at the cold, noble moon in the lake, foolishly yearning to possess it, then impulsively plunged into the water, only to become a lonely spirit in the end.

Let it all go, let it all go, I told myself, carefully returning the letter to the bookcase, trying to restore everything to its original state.

I didn’t know why Xie Yan still kept this letter, but it certainly wasn't out of nostalgia. Perhaps he simply pulled it out for amusement when bored, much like how the capital once buzzed with rumors of my scandalous affair with Xie Yan, all claiming it was my wicked seduction of the Crown Prince.

Perhaps Xie Yan also needed an outlet for diversion and release, and I had the distinct honor of serving as the esteemed Crown Prince’s laughingstock. Shouldn't I be grateful enough to weep?

I waited and waited in the study until the evening meal, but Xie Yan never appeared. Instead, the steward arrived, saying, "The Crown Prince is very busy right now and asks that you dine alone, Master Qiu."

"Mm," I replied casually, feeling this was to be expected. Whenever Xie Yan was engrossed in official duties, he automatically neglected meals.

Three years ago, fearing for his health, I would insist he eat with me, no matter how busy he was. But now, I had no reason to care for him. In fact, I even wished for his health to deteriorate—the sooner he died, the better.

Perhaps my malicious hope was truly heard by the heavens. Late that night, the steward hurriedly knocked on my door. Huai Xin quickly went to open it. Still drowsy, I threw on an outer robe and got out of bed, asking in confusion, "Steward, what urgent matter brings you here in the middle of the night?"

The steward, sweating profusely from anxiety, grabbed my hand and implored earnestly, "Master Qiu, could you please go check on His Highness the Crown Prince?"

"He’s in a very bad state. Despite being ill, he stubbornly refuses his medicine and keeps calling Feng Jiuyue’s name. This old servant is truly at her wit's end and has no choice but to seek your help."

"Steward, please don't rush. First, explain the situation clearly. What exactly is wrong with His Highness?" Sympathizing with the steward’s age, I remained calm and unaffected by her fluster, calmly asking for details.

"Ah, Master Qiu, it’s like this. Due to his early years in the cold palace, where meals were poor, the Crown Prince has always suffered from stomach ailments."

"When Master Feng was alive, he ensured the Crown Prince ate on time, and his health improved significantly. But after Master Feng’s passing, the Crown Prince developed anorexia..."

"Anorexia?" I frowned skeptically. "But when I dined with the Crown Prince earlier, he did eat."

Although Xie Yan’s expression while swallowing seemed strained, he did finish everything—I saw it with my own eyes.

"That’s because the Crown Prince was putting on a brave face in front of you, Master Qiu. Afterwards, he would secretly vomit everything!" The steward trembled with frustration as she spoke. "Over time, his stomach and intestines have been completely ruined and can’t withstand even the slightest strain."

"Today, the Crown Prince was selecting advisors and missed dinner again. By nighttime, his gastritis flared up, and he’s been suffering for half the night. This old servant truly had no choice but to come to you, Master Qiu."

"But," I hesitated, still puzzled, "I’m not a physician, nor do I understand medicine. What can I do?"

"The imperial physician has already been summoned and prescribed medicine for the Crown Prince. The trouble is, the Crown Prince now has a high fever and is delirious, constantly calling Master Feng’s name and stubbornly refusing to take the medicine."

"We’re truly at our wits’ end and can only beg for your help, Master Qiu."

Although the steward spoke euphemistically, I understood her implied meaning. She came to me to ask me, as a stand-in, to play the role of Feng Jiuyue in front of Xie Yan, to coax him into taking the medicine.

I didn’t want to go. Xie Yan’s life or death was no longer any concern of mine. But then it occurred to me: if Xie Yan was delirious, wouldn’t it be easier to extract information about the seal’s whereabouts?

I could also see how ill he truly was and whether there was a chance his mind had been damaged by the fever. I only hoped he hadn’t actually lost his mind—that would be no sport, as I had no interest in seeking revenge on a fool.

With this in mind, I nodded in agreement and said to the steward, "Steward, let me change my clothes first. Please wait a moment."

The steward naturally had no objection. Huai Xin brought me a lotus-pink autumn robe and draped a fox-fur cloak over me, fearing the night's chill would reach me. I hid the letter Xie Xing gave me in the hidden seam of my robe before following the steward to Xie Yan’s room.

"Master Qiu, the medicine on the table has just been brewed. You must ensure the Crown Prince drinks it. The imperial physician said if he doesn’t take the medicine and the fever persists, it could affect his faculties in the long run."

"Master Qiu, I leave the Crown Prince in your care. This old servant will wait outside the door. If you need anything, just let me know."

The steward, her face etched with worry, gave many detailed instructions before anxiously stepping out.

The room was dimly lit by candles, silent like the deep sea after the tide recedes. A cold, lonely atmosphere enveloped the entire space, with only the bowl of murky, dark medicinal brew emitting a faint steam. Following my memory, I walked toward Xie Yan’s inner chamber, but beneath my feet was no longer the soft Persian carpet.

In the past, I often stayed here. Being frail and disliking shoes, I frequently caught colds. Xie Yan, helpless, had a Persian carpet brought from the Empress’s quarters. Now, only the cold floor reflected the chilly moonlight.

The inner chamber was lit only by a dim oil lamp on the bedside table. Pale moonlight quietly crept into the room, illuminating Xie Yan’s pallid, haggard face. He seemed gravely ill, with a thin sweat on his forehead, pain etched between his brows, and lips devoid of color. Trapped in a nightmare, his breathing was deep and heavy, as if he were suffocating.

"Your Highness, Your Highness."

I called out softly a few times, but Xie Yan didn’t open his eyes. Instead, my gaze was drawn to his tightly clenched hand. Xie Yan’s slender fingers were curled tightly, as if gripping something important. What could it be that he refused to let go of even in illness? Could it be the seal?

Xie Yan, oh Xie Yan, even in such a state, you’re still so obsessed with power. Should I praise you for being shrewd beyond compare, or condemn you for being vain and vulgar?

With this thought, I sneered and reached out to pry his fingers open.

His grip was tight, like a pauper guarding his last treasure. I used all my strength but couldn’t open his hand. So, I tried another approach, whispering softly by his ear, "Xie Yan, open your hand. Let me see, okay?"

To my surprise, my words worked. Xie Yan’s brow relaxed slightly, and the hot breath from his mouth brushed against my face, causing an odd tingling sensation. His lips, parched from lack of water, were cracked and pitiful. Incoherent murmurs escaped his lips, "Qiu... Qiu..."

Qiu? I didn’t understand, nor did I desire to probe his strange thoughts. I focused on prying his fingers open.

Just then, the moonlight shifted, falling on his hand. I blinked and finally saw what he was clutching so tightly.

It was the braided grass ring I had taken back from him.

In the recklessness of youth, people often make world-shattering vows—like love as solid as rock, companionship through life and death, or unwavering loyalty. I, too, once did such a foolish thing, believing in my heart that if Xie Yan accepted this ring, he would be my one and only love for life. Nothing would change unless I died.

I truly kept my promise. Before taking my own life, I hated Xie Yan to the core. I wanted to drink his blood, devour his flesh, plunge a blade into his heart, make him taste the deception and pain I endured, and leave him with nothing, just like me.

But until the moment I closed my eyes, I still hoped it was all just a nightmare. I wished the person I loved had not used me, had not harmed my father, and had not abandoned me in that great mansion, leaving me to fend for myself.

In my final moments, I still loved Xie Yan.

Clearly, my love was a joke—how laughable, like an absurd comedy. Yet, how resilient it was! Even accompanied by such intense hatred, it thrived vigorously, like an evergreen that never fades.

I once made a vow in my heart to be Xie Yan’s lifelong lover. I wanted to bring him joy, to see him smile often, and to have his gray eyes reflect only me, Feng Jiuyue.

Unfortunately, my life was too short.

I broke my promise.

In this life, I could only live for my father.

I resolved to pry the ring from Xie Yan’s grasp but was suddenly stopped by a burning hand gripping my wrist.

Startled, I turned to look. Xie Yan had sat up at some point. His entire body was burning with fever, his pale face flushed with the heat. His phoenix eyes were dazed, as if veiled in a thin mist. He stared fixedly at me, his gaze filled with indescribable grievance and confusion, his gray eyes clear like a child abandoned by the world.

He tightened his grip on the ring, giving me no chance to take it. His parched lips trembled for a long time without uttering a word. But his gray eyes suddenly welled with tears, transforming into an absurdly poignant world of glass.

I was once the one who held the umbrella for him, losing sleep over every nuance of Xie Yan’s emotions, heartbroken to the core. But now, I merely clutched his lapel and said expressionlessly, "Since you’re awake, Your Highness, take the medicine yourself."

But Xie Yan refused to cooperate. He clung tightly to my wrist, obstinately burying his head against my chest, repeatedly calling out, "Xiao Qiu, Xiao Qiu, Xiao Qiu..."

"You lied to me last time. You never came again."

"Why did you lie to me?"

Xie Yan's constant accusations made me frown impatiently. I never expected him to still remember the agreement at the Feng residence last time, and instantly felt my head begin to pound with a throbbing headache.

I tried to push Xie Yan's head away from me, but in his sick state, he pressed against me like a blazing furnace, edging closer and closer, resembling a big dog fearful of being abandoned by its owner, occasionally lifting his head to gaze at me with watery eyes.

He was extraordinarily beautiful, his cheeks flushed red from fever, and with that stubborn yet obedient look in his eyes, he resembled a fragrant narcissus in full, decadent bloom, making it difficult to utter any words of refusal.

I let out a long sigh, forcing myself to calm down, and asked him, "Take a good look at me. Who am I?"

Upon hearing this, he straightened up and leaned closer to examine me. His gray eyes, soaked in moonlight, carried a hauntingly ethereal and otherworldly quality. He stared blankly for a long moment before suddenly speaking, "You are my Xiao Qiu."

Alright, it seemed Xie Yan was clearly delirious from the fever. I concluded this inwardly, my expression cooling as I tried to get off the bed to fetch the medicine for him. But he firmly wrapped his arms around my waist, even pulling me back onto the bed, holding me tight like a doll. The corners of his lips curled slightly, his eyes filled with satisfaction.

"Your Highness, let me go."

"I am Qiu Yunqing, not your Xiao Qiu."

As soon as I finished speaking, Xie Yan urgently covered my mouth with his hand. His hand was extremely hot, almost scalding, and he seemed to be mustering all his energy to correct me.

"Who is Qiu Yunqing? Xiao Qiu is lying to me again."

Though he was clearly ill, he somehow found the strength to pin me, a healthy person, down on the bed, looking down at me from above. His feverish fingertips trailed from my forehead down to the bridge of my nose, then lingered persistently on my lips. His damp phoenix eyes suddenly ignited with a blazing fire, and I realized my collar had come undone during the struggle.

Panicked, I tried to reach out and adjust it, but Xie Yan pressed my hand down. His stunningly beautiful face, beautiful as a celestial being, drew closer and closer to mine. His scorching breath brushed against my face like a warm breeze. I suppressed the disgust in my heart, telling myself to just think of it as being bitten by a dog.

But the expected kiss never came. Xie Yan's body seemed to have reached its limit, and he collapsed directly on top of me, losing consciousness in the blink of an eye. I struggled to crawl out from under him and, with immense distaste, felt for his breath with my fingers.

"He's still breathing." I unconsciously breathed a sigh of relief, fetched the medicine from the table, and fed it to him. Fortunately, he had exhausted himself from the earlier commotion and was now remarkably obedient, drinking down all the medicine I gave him.

After ensuring that everything was done to save Xie Yan’s life, I began searching the room for possible hiding places of the seal. My gaze fell on the drawers in the desk.

The drawer was not locked, and I quickly scanned through the documents inside, finding mostly official correspondence with nothing particularly suspicious. As I reached the bottom, I came across a piece of yellowed rice paper, more so than the other letters. It wasn't an official letter but rather words written in thin, elegant script by Xie Yan, the ink faint. It read:

"Let the bright moon set beyond the western tower."

**Author's Note**

① Note: "Writing Sentiments" by Li Yi of the Tang Dynasty

Ripples on the precious mat evoke endless thoughts, a thousand-mile tryst ended in a single night.

Henceforth, I have no heart for the fine night, let the bright moon set behind the western tower.