Chapter 167

Chapter 167

The two sat down again, and the room fell back into silence. Chao Cheyun picked up his tea and took a sip; the tea was scalding hot, burning his tongue, but he dared not make a sound, holding it in his mouth until it slowly cooled, then finally swallowing.

"Shuying," he called out once more.

Su Zhanyu did not respond, but neither did he look away.

"Are you... disappointed in me?" he finally asked. Su Zhanyu did not answer immediately, only lowered his gaze to the tea leaves floating and sinking in his cup, a few tender leaves bobbing up and down like lonely boats unable to reach shore.

"No."

Chao Cheyun's heart leaped abruptly.

"Only... sometimes I don't quite understand."

The heart that had leaped crashed heavily down, making his chest tight, his eyes stinging, nearly losing control.

So be it.

Su Zhanyu watched him and suddenly let out a soft sigh: "I have no standing to speak on the matter of Marquis Nan, but we grew up together and know each other through and through. You don't need to belittle yourself like this."

Those few words stirred the small secret Chao Cheyun had tightly guarded, throwing it into turmoil. The words struck so suddenly that Chao Cheyun jerked his head up. Before him, those eyes remained clear, like a mountain spring, so pure one could see straight to the bottom.

"I..." Chao Cheyun's voice trembled slightly. "I know you don't approve of my actions now, and I know I have little standing to begin with..."

He took a deep breath, finally daring to look directly at Su Zhanyu. Those eyes were too dazzling, but he dared not look too long, for if he did, he would drown in them.

"But I still wanted to come to you. I don't want us to stay like this forever."

His words stopped there. Gazing at Su Zhanyu's cool, indifferent expression, he grew timid again—afraid of being rash, afraid of offending, afraid that even expressing these feelings would be superfluous.

Su Zhanyu said nothing, so Chao Cheyun had to continue: "I don't ask for your understanding, only... only that you don't see me as a villain."

The room fell silent. The tea went from hot to lukewarm to cold. Outside the window, the bamboo rustled several times.

"Brother Shuyuan, you don't need to be so restrained in front of me, nor burdened by guilt."

Chao Cheyun's eyes were full of astonishment as he stared blankly at Su Zhanyu, listening as the other continued: "You make your choices; I walk my path. They have nothing to do with each other." Su Zhanyu looked away, gazing out the window, a faint bitterness rising in his heart. "You don't need to lose your composure because of me, nor feel anxious because of me."

These words were meant to console, but to Chao Cheyun, they hit him like a stone thrown into a calm lake, stirring a thousand ripples. He froze for a moment. "Unrelated?"

His tone grew heavy, incredulous: "Unrelated?"

Su Zhanyu had always been like this—his words and actions profound and ambiguous, leaving room for interpretation. But people have a flaw: they only focus on what concerns them, magnifying that part infinitely. The most feared words are the most piercing. Those two words, "unrelated," stabbed in and out, drawing not blood but bone fragments.

Chao Cheyun couldn't breathe. He could no longer maintain clarity and restraint. The walls of his self-control collapsed, defenses abandoned.

"What do you mean, 'unrelated'? How can we be said to be unrelated?"

His eyes reddened. Those emotions, suppressed for too long, burst forth like a trapped beast, breaking all cages and roaring out.

"Thirteen years, Su Shuying! Day and night, year after year, side by side—thirteen years! How can that be unrelated? Thirteen years! How can it not be related?!"

He finally choked up, with desperate devotion and hopelessness: "For thirteen years, my love for you has never ceased, and you know it! I've begged myself countless times, but it's like a river that never ends—I can't block it, can't stop it, can't hide it! What am I supposed to do? What do you want me to do? Shuying, Shuying, I've tried, I really have tried, but I can't... I just can't..."

Five years later, he once again laid himself bare, without any cover, pouring out all his joy and anxiety on the table, shattered before Su Zhanyu.

His love overflowed, his grievances overflowed. Su Zhanyu opened his mouth to interrupt, but Chao Cheyun raised his hand to stop him: "Reject me, ignore me—I don't care. I have to say this. I've always been afraid to pressure you, and I don't want to. Perhaps all my life I will never achieve magnanimity. I only hope that after all this disgrace, I won't have regrets. I'm begging you, I'm begging you—stop tormenting me. I know you have feelings for me. I know it. How long will you keep deceiving yourself? Are you deceiving me, or are you deceiving yourself?"

The room grew quiet again. Chao Cheyun panted heavily, hearing only his own pounding heart.

"Shuying... I don't have a father anymore. I'm so afraid... I'm afraid... I can't lose you too..." Chao Cheyun finally wept. "Look at me, look at me, or look into your own heart. I'm begging you." He pleaded like a child begging a god.

Wind blew in through the window, rustling Su Zhanyu's robes. The fervent emotion was too intense, crashing straight into his heart, making it impossible to maintain his cold exterior.

He was silent for a long time. Chao Cheyun's heart sank little by little, expecting the usual evasion. Then Su Zhanyu finally spoke, "Thirteen years, yes, thirteen years have passed."

He gave a faint smile. "Grandfather once said you were the smartest among us. But now, I think he was wrong."

Chao Cheyun was stunned. Su Zhanyu raised his eyes, looking straight at him, clear and earnest: "Of course you are not a villain."

A slight pause. "Of course I know."

As if in a dream, Chao Cheyun didn't know whether to grieve or celebrate. Perhaps those words "of course I know" had gone to his head. For a moment, he was completely speechless, a thousand thoughts swirling in his heart, not knowing where to begin.

The pursuit between Chao Cheyun and Su Zhanyu had always been one-sided—at least that was how Chao Cheyun saw it, because Su Zhanyu always evaded. What pained Chao Cheyun most was that many years ago, he had already reached out and touched the moon, truly touched it. But then the world turned, and that moonlight shone only for a moment before sinking back into the sky.

He knew Su Shuying cared for him, but he couldn't take the moon for himself. The moon was meant to hang in the sky, far from the dust of the world, untouched by mundane affairs.

Shuying, Shuying, life is already bitter enough. Let's not make it harder for ourselves.

Chao Cheyun's voice trembled: "Shuying, I understand. You were born to be the bright moon hanging in the high heavens; your world is never confined to such a narrow space. So I won't force you. Just walk on, clear as the wind, shine on whom you wish to shine, love whom you wish to love. But please let me be the silent mountain behind you, the most steadfast shield, watching over you always, year after year, forever as I do now. I am willing. This is what I want."

"Please, don't hide from me anymore... okay..."

After pouring out his heartfelt words, Chao Cheyun left Su Zhanyu momentarily at a loss for words. He knew Chao Cheyun too well. Outsiders might see him as the shrewd Second Master Chao, but Su Zhanyu knew clearly that this man was, at heart, no different from a child.

What kind of person was Su Zhanyu? Chao Cheyun couldn't say, and perhaps even Su Zhanyu himself couldn't define it.

He was compassionate—he saw the suffering of the world, the pitiful struggles of sentient beings entangled in desire. He was sharp—he saw at a glance that the root of all misery was human greed and mutual strife, which was why he coldly uttered the words "mutual destruction."

But the clearer he saw, the more powerless he felt. The rules of this world had persisted for millennia, deeply entrenched. One person's strength was ultimately meager. No matter how clearly he saw, he could not overturn the eternal laws of the world. So he chose to withdraw, to avoid conflict, to make no choices—neither willing to participate in wrongdoing nor willing to entrust the fate of all beings to any one person.

The world called his detachment a clear moon, but in his own eyes, it was clearest of all: this was ineptitude, cowardice. For him, supporting any side was a gamble—betting on their character, their vision, their ability to become a wise ruler. He dared not gamble. He was unwilling to take that risk.

This nature, in the face of overwhelming love, revealed itself as barren. Su Zhanyu's unspoken feelings toward Chao Cheyun had long been buried under layers of snow. Chao Cheyun always thought it was because of the birthday banquet and the grief of losing his brother, but the truth was entirely different.

A fire in Jiangnan had left a vivid scar on Su Zhanyu's heart. The change in Ji Zhou had come without warning. Human hearts cannot be seen through or predicted. Chao Shuyuan and Su Shuying had known each other for thirteen years—but what about Ji Minghan and him?

How could he dare to hold hope for others? What standing did he have to make demands of others? Time marched on relentlessly, sweeping away everything without mercy. He had no right to demand that others remain unchanged, nor the right to change them. And so, escape became the only option.

The all-powerful deity created life, then left without a trace. From then on, life was placed on a pedestal, and the world opened up all beauty and suffering.

Everything—good and bad, life and death—was the fruit of people's own hands.

How pitiful humans are. How lamentable they are.

So what kind of person was Su Zhanyu? A withered branch. Dead river waves. Humble dust. Cold gales. Because once anything was understood, it became unbearably dull. Su Zhanyu chose to flee.

The two were silent for a long time. Time seemed compressed until it was unfelt, the air itself drained away. In the vacuum, the heartbeat echoed endlessly. Chao Cheyun had said everything—dignified and undignified, what should and shouldn't have been said—all laid bare. Su Zhanyu lowered his eyes, unclear, unable to tell what he was thinking.

Su Zhanyu, you are truly a coward. Whether facing Chao Cheyun or the absurd rules that have long existed, you don't even have the courage to lift your eyes and meet his gaze. You lack the nerve; you don't even trust your own judgment.

As time passed quietly, the lingering echoes of a heart that had been stirred refused to fade. After a long, long while, Su Zhanyu finally raised his eyes, which had been lowered for so long.

Human beings are the most resilient species: despite Su Zhanyu's five years of evasion and rejection, Chao Cheyun loved him unconditionally.

Human beings are the most fragile species: despite Su Zhanyu's countless self-deceptions and refusals, Chao Cheyun's tears eventually watered that long-barren field of his heart.

Su Zhanyu looked at the undisguised anticipation and fervor in the other's eyes, and the last trace of distance in his heart gradually dissipated.

Their eyes met.

"I have never disliked you." The clear voice broke the long-standing barrier and silence between them, distinct and solemn: "My former cowardice and retreat were my fault, nothing to do with you."

Chao Cheyun shuddered all over, his heart pounding wildly in his chest as if it would burst out of his chest, and he stared back in a daze.

"My feelings for you are the same as before," Su Zhanyu spoke slowly, "unchanged."

***

In mid-spring, the final snow of winter fell; on Vermilion Bird Street, the crowd bustled, and the whole city busied itself preparing for the Flower Festival in a few days.

Street stalls were filled with soft, sweet flower cakes; commoners rushed to buy colored paper, red cords, and delicate flower-protecting streamers, to tie onto branches for the spring festival tradition. Everyone smiled with joy, strolling through spring and preparing gifts while chatting and laughing. The bustling city life was warm and serene, utterly undisturbed by court turmoil, still a scene of peace and stability.

Leftover snow turned into frost across the city; myriad blossoms bowed their heads to avoid the cold fragrance.

Tomorrow, the new emperor would ascend the throne.

The bitter days had come one after another; a west wind in one night withered all yellow.

Tomorrow, the myriad miles of rivers and mountains would change to a brand-new, yet unknown, sky.

Xu Yuxiu knew he had lost. He could not stop Nan Wuxie from ascending the throne, nor could he preserve the Li clan's dynasty. After being rescued by Situ Kong, he had been hiding in the Celestial Inspectorate's yamen. The tide had turned, beyond recovery. He dismissed everyone, and finally sent a letter to the Southern Marquis Manor through a trusted aide, leaving only himself behind.

That night, the Hall of Supreme Harmony was resplendent with gold and jade; the dragon head on the high throne gleamed bright, reflecting candlelight, neither warm nor cold.

The cold throne wept over the night terrace; all sounds mourned under the vast heavens. Xu Yuxiu stood below the steps, silently gazing up at that crown—the symbol of supreme authority. Power, the throne—throughout history, they were merely spoils of war for the strong, never representing justice.