Chapter Five: Red Candles and Silk Drapes (Part Two)

The blazing red dragon-and-phoenix wedding candles flickered with firelight, their flames swaying like willows trembling in the wind. Within the gauzy bed canopy, two figures sat facing each other, their outlines blurred by the crimson glow that filled the chamber, making it impossible to clearly see their forms.

Already a bit drowsy, the silent atmosphere made Xuexue instinctively want to raise her hand to stifle a yawn, but halfway through the gesture, she realized a problem. Her outstretched hand had somehow become entangled with Ji Wuqing’s, likely because the red silk binding them wasn’t long enough, resulting in mutual restraint.

“Tired, are you, Xue’er?” The man opposite her asked softly, his voice gentle—so gentle that Xuexue wondered if he was naturally so mild-tempered. Every word sounded as though it landed on cotton, echoing softly without a trace of harshness.

But if he truly possessed such a gentle disposition, could he still be considered a qualified emperor?

“Why so silent again? What remarkable patience my Xue’er must possess,” he seemed to complain, yet there wasn’t the slightest hint of impatience in his tone; it felt more like playful sulking.

Just as Xuexue was about to reply, a sudden rumble interrupted her thoughts. It seemed to come from her own stomach…

Ji Wuqing let out a low, delighted chuckle.

“My apologies,” she said, though her tone remained composed; there was nothing embarrassed about her manner. Hunger was, after all, only human—nothing to be ashamed of.

In her previous life, she had neither parents nor friends to care for her, and though her circumstances had been bleak, she had never known true hunger. Having sipped wine earlier only made her feel it more acutely, and this body was so frail that missing even one or two meals left her weak.

“Your health is already delicate. There’s no need to put on a brave face,” Ji Wuqing said quietly, a trace of reproach in his voice.

Xuexue was taken aback by his intimate words, as if they weren’t strangers barely acquainted for just over a month, but rather old companions. As she pondered this, the faint fragrance of pastries wafted to her nose…

Suddenly, a gentle breeze lifted the veil atop her head, and it drifted softly down onto the crimson brocade quilt, casting the embroidered patterns beneath into sharp relief.

Thus, the features that had been half-hidden beneath the veil were finally revealed: delicate brows, a light dusting of rouge on her cheeks, lips tinted with rose. The subtle makeup was the finishing touch, enhancing her beauty with a painter’s skill.

“Have something to eat first; breakfast is still a long way off.” A piece of pastry was brought to her lips—it was her favorite, peach blossom cake.

His attentive gentleness surprised Xuexue, though at the same time it felt natural. Wasn’t his mask precisely this gentle demeanor? Gentleness is a double-edged sword, suitable for both friend and foe.

Night breezes danced through the palace, setting the red silk drapes fluttering like immortal maidens—graceful, ethereal, impossible to grasp. Behind tightly closed doors, palace maids and guards kept their vigil at the gates of Anxue Palace, while within, a hush had settled over everything. By the pavilion, lotus flowers drooped their heads, slumbering quietly in the dark waters.

Yet, even in such a night, sorrow lingered in secret.

Beneath layers of red gauze, the two lay side by side, neither covered by the quilt, both still in their robes upon the soft bedding. They were so close—barely a foot apart—that the already spacious bed seemed even wider. Their splendid garments spread across the mattress, black and red entwined in tangled array.

Xuexue slept fitfully—or perhaps more accurately, could not sleep at all. Ji Wuqing’s gentle breath brushed her cheek, warm as the man himself, and yet precisely for this reason, she felt unsettled. She was used to sleeping alone; now, sharing the bed with another, she felt some resistance—likely the adjustment period had not yet passed. The length of the red silk once again stirred her dislike of ancient wedding customs.

So short—must they remain fixed in this posture all night?

“To think my Xue’er should find it such a hardship to lie beside me. Do you know how many would envy you this?” Ji Wuqing’s silhouette blurred in the wavering candlelight, his features indistinct, but his voice rang out clear, and the petulance in his tone was unmistakable.

“Your Majesty, you flatter me. How dare I show you disrespect?” Xuexue retorted, eyes closed, her face shrouded in Ji Wuqing’s shadow, a patch of darkness.

“Such duplicity! I am most pleased with a woman like you, whose heart is so transparent,” Ji Wuqing replied, his eyes shining brightly in the gloom.

His eyes were long—not with the soft beauty of a phoenix’s, but with a piercing sharpness, like flames concealed beneath the twilight.

How was she meant to respond? Should she candidly admit she disliked men like him, whose depths were unfathomable? Or offer a hollow thanks for the emperor’s favor toward a lowly consort?

Undeniably, she could do neither.

“A transparent heart? Your Majesty overestimates me. For one who cannot see, nothing is more terrifying than darkness, nothing more yearned for than the light. Thus, I may appear to be without desire, but the truth is, I know well that my wishes will never come true, and only then do I seem so unaffected. Your Majesty’s praise, I dare not accept.”

Her voice was soft, but every word rang with clarity.

Indeed, no one knew her heart. They thought wealth and glory were what she wanted—perhaps that was true in her last life, and perhaps it is true again now.

Ji Wuqing was momentarily surprised, but then he smiled faintly, without a sound.

“Life is but a fleeting journey. What we desire may not be gained; what we don’t, may come unbidden. If all went according to our wishes, neither of us would be here tonight. Xue’er, even the Buddha and the immortals cannot sever the seven emotions and six desires—how could mere mortals be free of longing? There’s no need to hide one’s desires—they belong to us. And you, Xue’er, should not belittle yourself!”

Indeed, even the smallest thought is a desire; who in this world is truly free of them?

This time, Xuexue was genuinely astonished. To hear such words from Ji Wuqing was almost strange—he ought to have been a monk, not a king.

“I didn’t expect Your Majesty to be so enlightened,” she said, her lips curving into a spreading smile.

“Hush…” Ji Wuqing suddenly leaned closer, pressing a finger gently to her lips. The move was so abrupt that Xuexue was momentarily stunned. In the silence, a few soft mutterings drifted through the quiet room.

“Hmph! They told me I couldn’t go to Mother, but I can come on my own!” The voice was young and sweet, tinged with pride.