Chapter 131

Chapter 131

Nan Wuxie knelt at the base of the imperial steps, his forehead pressed to the ground.

It was not the perfunctory bow of a regular audience, but a true kneeling, a true prostration, like any other minister entering this hall.

The hall was so quiet he could hear his own breathing, and the occasional rustle of paper from the imperial desk.

The emperor didn't tell him to rise.

Nan Wuxie remained kneeling, his knees pressed against the cold golden bricks. The cold seeped into his bones, little by little. He did not move, nor did he lift his head, maintaining that posture throughout.

After what felt like an eternity, a voice came from above.

"Minister Nan has arrived."

His tone was flat.

Nan Wuxie pressed his forehead to the ground, his voice low, coming from deep in his throat: "Your servant kowtows to Your Majesty."

Another moment of silence.

Li Sheng did not tell him to rise. He merely put down his vermilion brush, leaned back into the dragon throne, and looked down at the prostrate figure below.

Interesting.

He had seen Nan Wuxie countless times. From childhood, this man’s kneeling posture had always been stiffer than others, his spine straight, his chin slightly raised. Even when kneeling, he looked like someone who might stand up at any moment.

But not today. Today, he was truly kneeling.

The corners of Li Sheng’s mouth twitched slightly. "Rise and speak."

Nan Wuxie paused, then rose as instructed, still keeping his eyes lowered, his hands folded in his sleeves, standing respectfully.

Li Sheng looked at his demeanor and suddenly smiled, a warm smile. "What’s wrong with you, Minister Nan? I see you’ve changed, like you're a different person?"

The words were spoken casually, but they were like a soft knife sharpened with irony, grazing lightly.

Nan Wuxie kept his eyes down, his voice steady. "Your servant… has come today to confess his wrongdoing."

"Confess a fault?" Li Sheng raised an eyebrow. "What fault does Minister Nan have?"

Nan Wuxie was silent for a moment.

"Your servant should not have let personal matters interfere with public duty, nor hesitated in the face of state affairs." He paused, his voice dropping. "To be able to relieve Your Majesty’s worries and serve the country with utmost loyalty is your servant’s honor."

The words felt foreign even as they left his own mouth.

But he said them anyway.

Something flickered in Li Sheng’s gaze as he looked at him—satisfaction, the quiet, unspoken satisfaction of finally having this moment come.

"You're too serious, Minister Nan." His tone was gentle, comforting. "The Nan family has been loyal for generations. I know it well."

He paused, then suddenly shifted the topic, his tone becoming lighter, as if chatting about family matters. "That little girl… her name is Nan Nan?"

The hand hidden in Nan Wuxie’s sleeve tightened slightly. "Yes, Your Majesty, her name is Nan Nan."

"How old is she?"

"A little over four."

Li Sheng nodded, the smile at the corners of his mouth deepening. "Children grow up fast. In the blink of an eye, they're all grown up. When you go south this time, it will be at least half a year, perhaps several years. By the time you return, she might not even recognize you."

He paused, his gaze falling on Nan Wuxie’s face, as if concerned. "Hard to part with her, isn’t it?"

The question was asked lightly. Nan Wuxie kept his eyes lowered, not looking up.

The hall was still for a moment, even the wind outside the window seemed to stop.

Then he spoke. "In the face of state affairs and the nation's destiny… these personal attachments… are not worth mentioning."

He spoke very slowly, each word as if dug from the depths of his heart. After digging them out, he had to use all his strength to press them, to press them into words anyone could believe.

Li Sheng stared at him without blinking. He wanted very much to see Nan Wuxie’s eyes, to see what they looked like when he said those words. It must have been spectacular. It must have been spectacular.

But Nan Wuxie kept his eyes lowered the entire time. Li Sheng let out a soft laugh. "Minister Nan’s loyalty and righteousness warm my heart."

He picked up his teacup, blew on it, took a sip, and set it down again, his movements deliberate, savoring the taste.

"Regarding the southern border, I have already instructed the Ministry of War to speed up the allocation of grain, fodder, and military equipment. When you go, you must stabilize the situation as quickly as possible and reclaim the lost territory. Those people, those soldiers, are all waiting for reinforcements from the court." As he spoke, he paused again, his tone turning reflective. "Speaking of which, your father was the same back then. Every time he went on a campaign, he would leave you in the capital. I remember you were small and thin as a child, standing at the palace gate to see him off. You didn’t cry, just stood there."

He looked at Nan Wuxie, recalling the past like a conqueror reliving his victory.

"So many years have passed in the blink of an eye."

Nan Wuxie listened, eyes lowered, not moving.

Li Sheng withdrew his gaze, his tone returning to normal. "Alright, you may go. Pack your things and set off as soon as possible."

He paused, then added another sentence, his tone light and casual: "As for that little girl, I'll have someone look after her. Don't worry."

Nan Wuxie knelt down, kowtowing again, speaking each word deliberately: "Your servant kowtows in gratitude for Your Majesty's boundless grace."

Li Sheng watched his prostrate figure, the smile at the corner of his mouth, no longer suppressed, spread faintly.

"Rise and leave."

Nan Wuxie stood, took three steps backward, turned, and walked out of the great hall slowly.

The hall doors closed slowly behind him, cutting off that suffocating gaze.

He stood outside. The sky was very bright, stinging his eyes. He stood there a long time before walking down the white marble steps, one step at a time. There was a dampness in his palm. He looked down—it was blood from his fingernails, already clotted.

He tucked his hand back into his sleeve and kept walking.

And then he kept walking.

The lingering allure of the Qinhuai River, petals falling all over the city. The sound of silk and bamboo music drifted delicately, like a wisp of smoke impossible to catch.

Luo Qian lay sprawled across a wide, purple sandalwood daybed, her whole body like a contented cat, languidly stretched out.

***

One arm under her head, the other hand hung casually over the edge of the bed, her fingertips still holding an uneaten green grape. Her feet were propped on the armrest at the other end, bare, fair, her ankles as slender as a piece of fresh lotus root.

Someone fanned her, someone handed her fruit, someone stood silently holding a spittoon. She looked at no one, just squinted her eyes, her head gently swaying to the lilting opera tune, a hint of a luxurious, carefree smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

A servant boy silently crept up and whispered something in her ear.

Luo Qian didn’t even raise her eyes, only waved the hand that wasn’t holding a grape.

The servant boy understood, bowed, and stepped back a few paces before turning and walking out.

Not long after, He Xi entered through the moon gate, walking neither fast nor slow, neither to the left nor right, eyes lowered, until he stopped about ten feet away from the long couch, where he bowed and made a formal bow with clasped hands.

Luo Qian paid him no mind.

The string and woodwind music played on, the singing still lingered, her head still swayed, her eyes still squinted, and the faint smile at the corner of her mouth even deepened.

He Xi remained in his bow, motionless.

After an unknown length of time, Luo Qian finally raised a hand and gently waved it.

The music stopped abruptly.

Those who fanned her, who handed her fruit, who held the spittoon, along with the actors on the stage, all silently withdrew.

The courtyard was empty, leaving only the two of them. Only then did Luo Qian slowly open her eyes and look at He Xi. She looked him up and down, as if appraising an old object she hadn't seen in ages.

Her look was neither cold nor warm—just a gaze, with something indescribable in it.

“Why stand so far away?” Luo Qian said lazily. “Come here.”

He Xi didn't move. Luo Qian arched an eyebrow at him, then smiled.

She took her feet off the armrest, placing her bare soles on the edge of the couch, then slowly straightened them and lightly pointed her toes in He Xi's direction.

“Come here,” she said softly, as if coaxing a wary stray cat.

He Xi hesitated, then finally stepped forward. He walked to the edge of the couch and stood still, still with eyes lowered.

Luo Qian didn't pull her feet back; she kept them outstretched, the bare tips of her toes pressed lightly against He Xi's belt at his waist—not hard—then slowly moved up, across his sash, across his robe's front, all the way up to his chin.

Her toes hooked gently under his chin, forcing his head up. He Xi didn't flinch; he only lifted his eyes slightly to look at the woman before him.

She had fair skin, was beautiful, smiled with a hint of charm, but deep in her eyes lay something unfathomable.

“You've lost weight,” Luo Qian said, sounding almost affectionate. “Is the food at the yamen that bad?”

He Xi didn't answer. Luo Qian pulled her foot back, resting it on the armrest again, her posture even more languid than before.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, picking up the green grape that had been sitting there, popping it into her mouth, and chewing slowly. “Didn't we just see each other at the banquet the other night? Haven't you had enough of looking?”

He Xi paused.

“The child?” he said flatly.

Luo Qian stopped chewing. “Child?” she repeated, then burst out laughing. “Does Lord He want to have a child with me?”

She sat up, bare feet on the edge of the couch, leaning forward until she was very close to him—close enough to see the curve of her eyelashes.

“Alright, let's go. Into the room?” she said, in a tone so seductive it was both infuriating and irresistible. “I'd be happy to oblige.”

He Xi didn't retreat. He looked at her, something churning in his eyes, held back with great effort.

“Where, exactly, is our child?”

Luo Qian stared at him for a long moment. Then she leaned back into the soft couch and laughed dismissively.

“What's the rush?” She reached out, took another green grape from the side table, and held it up to the light. “I'm his mother. Would he lack anything with me?”

She paused, then popped the grape into her mouth.

“As for you—” her gaze roamed over him once more, top to bottom. “Look at what you've done to yourself.”

He Xi said nothing. He stood there, eyes downcast, like a withered tree stump.

But her expression and tone were like a suffocating sea, water flooding recklessly into his nostrils, his eyes, his heart, drowning every memory.

Deep in those memories lay that night.

It was his first year in Nanchang. He was still the young top scholar, arrogant and naive, believing he could make a difference in this remote prefecture with his passion and integrity.

The Luo family held a banquet, and he went.

At that time, he didn't know her—he'd only heard that the Luo family's Young Mistress was eccentric and difficult.

But since they were a powerful local family the prefectural office needed to maintain relations with, as a Records Office official, he had no reason not to attend.

The banquet was in the Luo manor's rear courtyard. It was called a family dinner, but there weren't many people. She sat at the head of the table, wearing loose plain clothes, barefoot, leaning back against an armrest—like a painting come to life.

During the feast, she said little. She just glanced at him from time to time and smiled—a smile that baffled him.

Later, she toasted him, and he drank.

What happened after that became hazy.

He only remembered the wine was sweet, sickly sweet, and after drinking it, his mind fogged over, everything slowing down. He didn't remember leaving the banquet, being helped through one corridor after another, or entering that incense-filled bedroom.

He only remembered her.

She sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. The lamplight flickered over her face, making her look like a demoness from a painting.

“Lord He,” she called, her voice soft and seductive. “Are you feeling hot?”

He was burning up.

Every inch of him burned as if he were being roasted, yet he couldn't tell exactly where it hurt.

He watched her as she slowly reached out and undid the front of his robe. Her fingernails touched his chest, and that slight coolness sent a shiver through him.

He wanted to push her away.

He should have pushed her away.

But when he raised his hand and placed it on her shoulder, it couldn't exert any strength.

She smiled, lifting her chin, leaning in until he could see the gleam in her eyes. There was no confusion, no loss of control in that light—only a chilling clarity that made his blood run cold.

She had been sober from beginning to end.

“Lord He,” she breathed softly in his ear, “aren't you the one who talks most about rules?”

“Come on, teach me, won't you?”

He wanted to leave, wanted to escape immediately, but he had no strength at all.

Her body pressed down on him, soft as water, yet hot as fire. He closed his eyes, dared not look, but the touch, the breath, the sticky sweat, the sounds she couldn't suppress—each one drilled into his brain.

He remembered what he'd said: "No," "Let go," "You can't do this."

She didn't answer, just laughed in his ear.

Later, he stopped.

He couldn't speak anymore.

All he remembered was that before dawn, she leaned close to his ear one last time, her voice lighter and softer than ever, like a feather brushing across his heart.

"Master He, I'm a crooked merchant. So what does that make you?"

With that, she fell asleep as if nothing had happened, curled up beside him, breathing evenly, a faint smile still on her lips.

He lay there, motionless, staring at the canopy above, until daylight came.

After that, he could never hold his head up in front of her again.

Every time he looked at her, he remembered that night—remembered how she had stripped him bare, layer by layer, from clothes to dignity, from body to pride, leaving nothing behind.

...

He Xi stood still. Before him, Luo Qian lounged lazily on the couch, her eyes half-smiling, her slender white calf draped over the armrest.

She was looking at him.

Looking at all of him.

Looking at him, inside and out.