PM - 78

He descended upon her like a celestial deity, a majestic figure astride a fine horse, his presence exuding confidence and grandeur. Just as she had first seen him when he returned from the army—his armor gleaming with the glory of countless battles—he stood before the sovereign without an ounce of subservience, his every movement radiating the boldness of one who commands the world. Over a decade had passed, yet no matter how the rivers and mountains changed, this man remained unchanged. She gazed up at him, feeling as though he was the master of all, while she was but a floating weed clinging desperately to him for roots.

After a year of separation, reflecting on their past felt like recalling another lifetime. Her tears flowed uncontrollably. He looked down at her gaunt face, and in that instant, a sharp pain pierced his heart like a knife.

Their entourages were far away; along the long road, they were two beams of light free from constraints, colliding head-on and stopping to face each other. Her eyes held thousands of mountains and rivers, distant and vast, always etched in his mind. He called out “Your Majesty,” but it sounded alien even to his own ears, as if spoken by someone else. At a loss for words, he simply stared at her, dazed, wishing he could devour her whole, swallow her into himself so they would never be apart again.

Fú Wēi sobbed quietly, trying not to let him see her disheveled appearance. She had imagined their reunion countless times, picturing herself as composed and dignified, making him believe she had thrived. But reality betrayed her wishes—she was humiliated, unable to control her emotions. Tears fell ceaselessly, wiped away only to return, until finally she gave up, letting them flow freely down her cheeks in the wind.

“General, your efforts have been arduous,” she managed between sobs, feigning strength. “It has been... since we last parted ways a year ago. General... I hope you’ve been well.”

Hearing her broken words, he struggled to maintain composure, bowing deeply after what felt like an eternity. “This humble servant is well, except...” His voice trailed off, heavy with emotion. “...I miss my beloved wife day and night, as if trapped in an abyss.”

His words were sincere, simple yet profound enough for Fú Wēi to savor. In court, she had witnessed storms and wielded life-and-death power with ease, but love—this word—was the hurdle she could never overcome. She whimpered, uncaring now. “I’ve already told everyone I’m a lover of women.”

He froze, tears streaming down his face, looking somewhat foolish. Then, abandoning all pretense, he stepped forward and pulled her tightly into his arms.

What others thought no longer mattered—not the royal attendants, nor his aides. If the emperor and the general were entangled, so be it! Finally, she allowed herself to wail loudly, lest she betray his resolve to “fall willingly.” Clutching his waist fiercely, pounding on him with one hand, she cried, “Why did you stay away for so long? Why? If I hadn’t summoned you, would you ever have come back? Did you care about whether I lived or died?”

He couldn’t speak, only pulling her closer, pressing her deeper into his embrace, as if trying to mend the void that had once torn through his chest.

“In my heart... there’s a gaping hole. Cold winds blow through it daily, entering here and leaving there... It hurts so much.” He buried his face in the soft fabric of her shoulder. How long had it been since he’d seen anything but the dull hardness of armor? He had almost forgotten what warmth and tenderness felt like. She had introduced him to love, made him taste its sweetness, only for him to try—and fail—to renounce it. Life without her felt hollow, devoid of flavor. As she had said, once you’ve beheld towering peaks, how can you settle for mere hills? Once you’ve basked in splendor, returning to mediocrity becomes impossible.

Clumsily, she placed her hands over his chest. “Let me seal it shut. If it’s closed, it won’t hurt anymore.”

He smiled at her, his eyes brimming with affection. Pulling her close again, he murmured, “It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

In truth, neither party was to blame for their separation—it was the result of countless twists of fate. Their love ran so deep that even believing they might never meet again hadn’t erased the marks they left on each other’s hearts. She traced her fingers over his cold armor. “From now on, it’s forever. You must promise me.”

He nodded. “I promise. Forever. I’ll never give up lightly again.”

Ah, the third month of spring—a beautiful season, where all things flourish and lovers reunite. She closed her eyes, pressing her cheek against the crook of his neck. Finally… She was filled with gratitude, realizing that adversity had taught her to cherish. From now on, she vowed to learn how to be a good wife, to trust him completely, to entrust everything to him.

As for him, pride still coursed through his veins. Going north had been partly to safeguard her legacy and partly to escape. But some feelings are impossible to shake, even unto death. Ambition drove him, yet inner demons haunted him, forcing him to yield. Even now, he lamented: “The Wuhuan tribes harass our borders. Standing atop the city walls, I can see their encampments across the Suí River. Originally, I planned to report to the court this spring and crush them…” He whispered in her ear, “…but now, it seems impossible.”

The Wuhuan weren’t insurmountable—if he set his mind to subduing them, it wouldn’t be difficult. She muttered, “It’s almost as if I’ve delayed you. When you return to court, do whatever you wish with your troops.” Sweetly, she added, “After all, everything is for the sake of our children. The greater your achievements, the more they will benefit.”

He couldn’t help but smile, his eyebrows arched elegantly, his teeth white and even. The Grand Marshal and Commander-in-Chief—a truly lovable man.

Reluctantly parting, they eventually remembered the prying eyes around them. Turning back, they saw that the attendants had steeled themselves, averting their gazes toward birds in the mountains or the spring scenery. The loyal officers behind the general, however, were struck dumbfounded. Beneath their helmets, their faces displayed a kaleidoscope of shock—they had always believed their superior was an unyielding hero, only to discover this side of him!

But he didn’t care. With the emperor’s announcement, he shrugged off any reputation as a scheming favorite. Perhaps it was better this way—plans for the future needed consideration. Time had already slipped away; there was no reason to conceal things further.

With one hand leading his horse and the other holding hers, he escorted her back to the golden carriage. Reluctant to board, she hesitated at the wooden steps. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Allow me to clear the path ahead.”

She exhaled in relief, nodding. Lingering glances followed him, and in his eyes, she saw her reflection—a contented, fulfilled woman with no regrets.

Afraid he might ride too far ahead, she leaned out of the carriage window to watch him. Mounting his horse with fluid grace, he was the same man—resplendent in shining armor, commanding armies, her husband. Her hands gripped the window frame, resting her chin on them. Even watching his retreating figure from afar filled her with gratitude.

Looking back on the past year, she shuddered to think how she’d lived like a walking corpse, power offering no joy. After inheriting the mantle from the late emperor, ruling alone had been her dream. She had admired him while plotting to bring him down—and succeeded—but suddenly realized how lonely solitude could be. Walking beside him was the greatest joy. Now that he had returned, she could finally rest. No matter how stubborn a woman might be, exhaustion would eventually find her. Having someone to lean on during those moments was true success.

The commander strode proudly, escorting the sovereign into the city. Golden rays shimmered on his shoulders, and his crimson cloak made him shine like the sun and moon. The common folk dropped their tasks and stood respectfully, watching as the procession moved from the alleys to Zhūquè Avenue, a sea of people surging along. Such titles were rare in the empire’s history—generals were common, but not ones bearing the rank of Grand Marshal. Superior even to the chancellor, all officials beneath him bowed in reverence, marking the pinnacle of honor.

A pillar of the nation, both cultured and martial. Fú Wēi smiled softly, gently lowering the carriage window.

Entering the palace grounds, the imperial guards bowed low as he openly held her hand, walking together past high terraces and aerial walkways. Never had they imagined such a day—strange, yet exhilarating. Without public acknowledgment or declaration, they lived boldly.

The Grand Tutor and ministers awaited them inside. The steps leading to the audience hall were steep, second only to the outer court in importance. The officials, dressed in formal robes and clutching tablets, craned their necks outward. Suddenly, a loud announcement rang out: “The Emperor arrives! The Grand Marshal and Commander-in-Chief arrives!” Two figures ascended slowly onto the platform, initially appearing side by side, then revealed to be holding hands. The emperor nestled close to the general, devoid of imperial majesty, content to bask in his brilliance. The ministers exchanged bewildered looks—two men, yet somehow perfectly matched. So strange!

But now wasn’t the time to ponder the thoughts of these two figures at the apex of power. The officials bowed deeply. “We greet Your Majesty and welcome the general’s triumphant return.”

This assembly of officials served as mere backdrop to the emperor. Standing aside, Fú Wēi watched as he returned their bows. “Rú Chún has been away in the north for a year. All affairs of state relied on your diligence. You have faithfully assisted the sovereign in creating a prosperous era. Please accept my gratitude.”

It was like the return of a household master thanking stewards for managing domestic affairs. The Grand Tutor mused privately: When exactly had these two grown close? Was it during the night the general spent in Zhāngdé Hall as chancellor? Or the night the emperor tended to the sick general after the royal wedding? The ways of youth were inscrutable—son-in-law and father-in-law intertwined, scandalous if spoken aloud, yet they bore no shame. Would anyone dare oppose this forbidden union? After all, the emperor had yet to produce an heir. Prolonged intimacy might harm the body—but faced with a general wielding immense military power, dissenters swallowed their objections. Evil forces weren’t easy to confront.

Lost in thought, the Grand Tutor envisioned scenes of chaos. The general’s courtesy prompted everyone to bow lower. Unexpectedly, someone nudged the Grand Tutor’s arm—he looked up to see the general. His face was calm, refined, and handsome, indeed possessing the qualities of a favored consort.

The general said, “Grand Tutor, no need for excessive ceremony. You are a venerable minister who has served the emperor faithfully for many years. Your contributions are immeasurable.”

The Grand Tutor waved dismissively. “No, no, no. General, you have repeatedly saved the emperor from peril, working tirelessly and frugally for decades, earning unparalleled merit for the empire. This old servant cannot compare.”

Expecting modesty, the general instead accepted the praise with a smile.

What followed was a cacophony of congratulations, extolling the general’s promotion as well-deserved. Throughout history, none could rival his brilliance. Meanwhile, the serene emperor, Xīhé, observed silently, his gaze soft and tender—the difference between a trusted minister and a favored one laid bare.

The general recounted his experiences in the north, issuing instructions for several urgent reforms. The ministers obeyed without question. The emperor decreed a banquet at Déyáng Hall the following day to welcome the general home. Everyone happily complied, then tactfully excused themselves. Clearly, there were matters of state requiring private discussion; lingering would be superfluous.

Chancellor Tang and the hundred officials dispersed, and even those standing in attendance were sent away by the Chief Eunuch. The hall was left with only her and him, standing face to face, almost making her doubt whether this moment was a dream.

He extended both hands towards her, palms up, and she placed herself into his palm. Her smile carried twisted lines of emotion too abundant to express. When it came time to speak, she found herself unable to utter a word. She pulled him towards the inner chambers, walking through the long corridor and entering the greenhouse. The greenhouse remained unchanged—fragrant aloeswood constantly burning, luminous pearls hanging high. In the warm light, she removed his helmet for him, her delicate hands unfastening his belt, then crouched down to take off his armor.

“Traveling thousands of miles must have been tiring,” she said as she neatly arranged each piece of armor on a nearby table. Then she pulled him to sit down and knelt behind him, massaging his shoulders.

His heart was filled with indescribable emotions. He pressed his hand over hers. “Ā Yīng, I’ve been gone for a whole year. Was it difficult for you?”

Fú Wēi didn’t think so; the sweetness before her eyes had already washed away the past pain. She replied, “I’ve forgotten all about it. Don’t mention him. Actually, I was a bit worried on my way to fetch you, fearing that you wouldn’t forgive me because of the Yan family’s affairs.”

He took her hand from his shoulder, turned around, and humbly looked at her with lowered posture. “But what I feared was that you, because of Shàngguān Zhōngshū, wouldn’t give me another chance.”

She blinked, tears threatening to spill again. “Those regrets are scars on our hearts. I know it’s not easy to forget, nor should they be forgotten. But now, for me, you are the most important. Isn’t there a saying? ‘Forgive when you can.’ It’s been a year already. Even if it’s punishment, it’s enough. Do you want to delay forever?” She looked pitiful, her eyes shimmering with tears, her nose red, whispering, “You can gallop across the world, but I can only wait for you in the palace.”

He felt an indescribable ache, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “We’ve wasted so much time...”

She closed her eyes, feeling her heart pounding wildly in her chest, almost igniting. “From now on, we’ll stay together forever, okay?”

He agreed, his warm lips moving down to kiss her nose. “When I was away, I missed you so much I wished I were dead.”

Tears flowed continuously from her long lashes. She said, “Me too. Several times I wanted to die.”

He choked softly, paused, and pressed his lips to hers, but her trembling made the kiss falter.

She opened her eyes, raising both hands to cup his face, smiling to comfort him. “Luckily, I survived and waited for your return. My lord, do you remember? The medicine I drank is finished after a year. We can have a child now.”

Indeed, he forgot his sorrow, looking somewhat embarrassed with shifting eyes. “I’ve already thought about it on the road...”

The tenderness seemed to pause momentarily. Men will always be men! She glanced aside and asked, “It’s been a year. You haven’t had many chances to practice. Will it be like the first time again?”

The general’s expression froze. “How could it be!” Without saying more, he lifted her right lapel. “Whether or not we’re rusty, one try will tell.”

Thus, the two entangled, having been apart for so long they almost forgot that sensation. Fú Wēi was like a fish that had leapt onto land, gasping for breath, craving more.

His hands roamed all over her body, crossing plateaus, flowing through valleys, seeking the endpoint. When he covered her, Fú Wēi was still thinking: after running such a long distance and engaging in such intense entanglement, wouldn’t he collapse from exhaustion? Yet he seemed tireless, so she stopped worrying, content as long as he enjoyed it...

He was always affectionate, fearful of hurting her with his haste, pausing frequently to observe her reactions. His long-starved body nearly drove him mad, but when she showed discomfort, he would stop, kissing her neck and shoulders. Then his kisses gradually spread, like branches extending along her torso. Her upper arms were slender; indeed, she was a delicate girl. In the dimness, he wandered aimlessly, touching her forearm and suddenly noticing something amiss. Previously smooth skin now bore uneven ridges—scars from cuts that appeared sometime unknown, distinguishable even without looking closely.

Alarmed, he quickly pulled her arm under the lamp to examine it—so many, neatly over a dozen, all scars left from cuts.

He stared at her in astonishment. She bit her lip, still trying to evade, but he wouldn’t let her. A sovereign’s skin was nurtured with jade and gold; annual use of imperial jade ointments, incense, and bathing medicines cost no less than ten thousand taels. Yet all this care resulted in this!

He was tormented. “Why? Why did you do this to yourself?”

She stammered like a guilty child. “Sometimes I couldn’t help it...” She pointed them out. “This one was because I missed you too much... and this one... and this one too...”

Supporting himself, his face full of anguish, he pounded his chest repeatedly in self-reproach. “What have I done!”

Fú Wēi hurriedly embraced him. “It’s not your fault. You had no choice. After all, thirteen lives—all were your father’s brothers.”

Discussing such topics at this moment would surely ruin the mood. She flipped him over, pinning him beneath her, her flushed cheeks swaying shyly. “I don’t want to stop halfway. We can talk later.”

Thus began a frenzy, the sky darkened and blurred. She arched her body, taut like a bent bow, softly moaning, “Rú Chún...” Eventually, he took control, every thrust filled with love, whispering against her lips, “Ā Yīng, let’s have a child today.”

Dazed, she thought how foolish he was—children weren’t something that could be conceived on demand. One attempt might not suffice; it might take several tries. However, the formidable general accomplished in two days what usually required ten.

For two days, they didn’t leave the greenhouse, their minds hazy, legs weak. The welcoming banquet was canceled without hesitation. Fú Wēi couldn’t understand how he possessed such boundless energy. She lay there half-dead, while he still had the strength to dress properly and leap outside to find food. She admitted this activity was enjoyable, but too much of it was overwhelming. So when he approached again, she held his chest. “If the emperor and the general die in the greenhouse, future generations will laugh at us.”

He gazed at her longingly. “Your servant is getting older. If I don’t make an effort now, when will I ever have a son? Let’s have one soon. When he grows up, I’ll take you away and show you the city I built for you.”

“Is it Jincheng County?”

He shook his head, smiling. “Outside Xiaoguan Pass. I started funding its construction last year. In two more years, it should be ready.”

A city built for one person. She smiled faintly, her jade-colored nightgown accentuating her pale cheeks and neck, appearing very shy.

He liked to hold her hand and kiss the jagged scars. She always said, “Don’t do that. They’re ugly, all results of my foolishness.”

He didn’t think so. These scars were left because of him, a reminder of his sins, constantly reminding him how much he owed her. At first, she resisted, but later she let him. Being loved by this person was wonderful. She had always been strong-willed, unwilling to admit defeat, but meeting him made her feel she never truly won.

Gently stroking his hair, sometimes he acted childishly, leaving her helpless. She thought he was holding her arms apologetically for the numerous scars, slowly realizing his intentions weren’t pure. After finishing, he moved upward, upward, finally resting on her chest.

She sighed, “Do you really intend to make up for a year’s worth?”

Amidst his busyness, he managed to look up. “Isn’t it good?”

“It’s good, but we have a long future ahead...”

Like a hungry tiger pouncing on a lamb, he lunged at her. She gasped, speech cut short.