In the Yunshang Pavilion, songs of orioles and dances of swallows filled the air, with fragrant powder swirling about. Outside the third-class private room at the northernmost end, a slender, small figure crouched by the door, listening intently.

“Hmm?” The little person clutched a jade wine pot, pressing their delicate ear tightly against the door. How could this be? Her elegant brows furrowed deeply, and the purple birthmark on her cheek came alive with her expressions.

After a while, she stood up, looking around left and right. Seeing no one in sight, she couldn’t help but feel a wave of excitement. She eagerly extended her index finger, secretly channeling her inner energy to poke a small hole in the cotton cloth covering the window. Her bright, lively eyes blinked as she peered into the room. Through the gauzy screen, she faintly saw entwined figures amidst the bed curtains.

“Master, good master, spare me...” The woman below whimpered pleadingly.

“Wretch! Look at your lewdness!” The man on top moved fiercely.

“Mmm...” The woman let out a sound akin to a low sob.

“Hmm?” The eavesdropper clutched the wine pot tightly, her expression growing even more bewildered. She pouted and nodded, squatting down again: Wasn't this supposed to be **? Why was there no fish, no water, and certainly no joy?

She lowered her head, collecting her thoughts, a flicker of annoyance flashing in her beautiful eyes. Could it be that Little Hezi had deceived her? Indeed, the last time she asked Liu Xunhe what was so interesting about brothels, he evaded the question. When pressed, he finally muttered four words: “**.”

Joy? Joy? Is this called joy? She glared fiercely at the room filled with haunting sounds, her almond-shaped eyes blazing with fire, puffing up her cheeks.

Suddenly, she relaxed her brows, slapping her forehead as if struck by sudden enlightenment.

So that's how it is! “**”—only the fish on top can enjoy the good bait and experience the pleasure of being in the water! No wonder only the person on top looked excited, while the woman below was in agony. ** also depended on position, hehe. If she hadn't sneaked off work to “learn,” she might have missed such an important piece of “knowledge.” Good thing, good thing.

She patted her chest in relief, chuckling to herself.

“What’s so interesting?”

Little Bird was startled, her body stiffening but not daring to turn around because she could already sense the imposing presence behind her.

Feng Wuyu stared at his motionless junior sister, his amber eyes gleaming with amusement. He bent down, leaning close to her delicate body to peer through the small hole in the window.

“Sis... ter...” Little Bird swallowed hard, her voice hoarse. “Actually...” She faltered halfway through her sentence, unable to continue.

Feng Lianyan was frantic, her face ashen, feeling like a tiny person was thrashing around inside her mind: Ah! How could Brother Feng find out? What to do? What to do?

Feng Wuyu raised an eyebrow, smiling as he straightened up. His gaze fell upon the slender shoulders of the beauty before him, her delicate earlobes red as if they were bleeding.

A slight itch stirred in his heart, and he clenched his fists in excitement. Suppressing the wicked thoughts burgeoning in his mind, Feng Wuyu finally spoke in a slightly hoarse tone: “Little Bird, you’ve grown up.”

The meaningful yet restrained tone slipped into someone's ears but was misinterpreted thus...

Hmm? Brother Feng isn’t scolding her? Feng Lianyan felt as if a spell had been lifted, raising her head with a relieved smile: “Yes, yes, Little Bird is all grown up.”

Her enchanting eyes lingered briefly, making his heart race. Unseen by Feng Lianyan, the veins on his hands bulged noticeably beneath his sleeves.

This little person had finally taken an interest in matters between men and women. He wanted nothing more than to devour her whole right then and there. He endured, enduring until today.

“Brother, let's quickly leave. It wouldn’t be good if we were discovered.”

Feng Wuyu watched her fluttering beautiful eyes, taking a long time to calm the surging blood in his veins.

“Mm, yes,” he smiled innocently, allowing Little Bird to pull him along.

Watching her willowy waist, Feng Wuyu felt an indescribable heat in his heart. Seventeen years ago, when he saw the infant resembling a ball of dough in his master’s arms, he found it amusing. In the years that followed, he protected her, teaching her to read, write, wield a whip, and practice martial arts. Though they were called senior and junior siblings, their relationship was more like that of teacher and student, father and daughter, or childhood sweethearts. Only later did he realize how despicable he was, treating her like clay, shaping her into the form he desired with the water of emotion.

In Feng Wuyu’s heart, there was only one junior sister—Feng Yunqing.

And she...

His winter-sun-warm eyes narrowed into crescent moons, and Feng Wuyu licked the corner of his lips imperceptibly, revealing a terrifying possessiveness.

And she, was his long-decided wife.

Seventeen years had passed; what was a fleeting moment compared to that? Feng Wuyu suppressed the flames of desire in his heart, lowering his gaze slightly. This little one was still a block of wood—how could she satisfy him fully? He would wait for this enchanting flower of passion to sprout, to grow leaves, winding its way slowly to his feet, eagerly wrapping itself around his body, coyly nearing his lips.

And he, needed only to open his mouth to devour her.

“Ah~choo!” Someone wrinkled their nose and sneezed loudly: Damn! Who was talking bad about her?

...

“Not found yet?” Qiu Qiming narrowed his cunning eyes, glancing sideways.

“Yes.” The personal servant lowered his eyes, avoiding the gaze, speaking softly. “I saw that pimp helping Minister Feng turn the corner and then they disappeared.”

He absolutely couldn’t say that he had been distracted by a flirtatious serving maid and lost sight of the ugly pimp. Otherwise, given his master’s cruel nature, his little life would be in jeopardy.

Qiu Qiming clenched his fist, and the jade cup shattered instantly. Ning Marquis had achieved great merit in the battle of Jing, drawing attention from all sides. Actually, they could have lured the ninth prince under their wing to assist Che Ran in ascending the throne. But alas, Little Seven had always envied this younger brother and was determined to eliminate him completely. And the Qiu family’s entire bet was placed on this cunning and crafty cousin. Even though he found it difficult to agree with this move, he had no choice but to fulfill Che Ran’s wish—to uncover Feng Yunqing’s identity today.

Thinking of this, Qiu Qiming put back on his frivolous smile, extending his arms to embrace the beauties on either side: “Come! Drink! Drink! Tonight, we won’t return until we’re drunk!”

Continuing the revelry, but with a hidden dagger in the laughter...

Qiu Qiming, flushed red, leaned on his servant, grinning foolishly, staggering on his feet, his eyes gleaming sharply. Pretending to be drunk, he called out to his companions.

After turning the corner, there were six rooms.

A quick scan of his eyes, and he had a plan.

“Come! Come here!” Qiu Qiming slurred his words, his voice twisted beyond recognition. “All… all of you… entertain this young master well… entertain…”

“Young Marquis, you’re drunk!” Those on either side laughed obsequiously.

“Damn it!” Qiu Qiming spat, spraying saliva laden with heavy alcohol on the attendant’s face. “Who… who… said… said this young master… is drunk?”

“No, no.” The minor officials bowed and scraped, laughing fawningly to appease him.

“Mm, mm.” Qiu Qiming’s cheeks were flushed, and he turned around, kicking open the door of the first room with one foot.

His eyes flashed sharply, and his mouth stretched into an exaggerated grin: “Look, who… who… is inside?”

“Ah!”

“Young Marquis?”

The naked man and woman inside screamed, covering themselves with the blanket.

Searching the rooms—one, two, until this third one...

“Get out!”

The man inside roared, a gust of palm wind sending Qiu Qiming flying out of the warm room.

“Ouch!” Those accompanying him were crushed underneath.

Supported by those on either side, Qiu Qiming staggered to his feet. Although he only caught a glimpse, he could confirm that the person inside was not his target. However, this vagabond was too arrogant, dare to slap him away with one palm. After he dealt with that Feng brat or girl, he would teach this blind fool  a lesson.

“Hmph!” Qiu Qiming glared angrily, then quickly plastered a dazed, foolish smile on his face. “There’s still… who… who… hehe, hehehe!”

Continue, continue, continue catching “adulterers.”

“Nearly there, nearly there.”

Inside the warm room at the farthest end, Zhuque jumped onto the bed, hair disheveled. Looking at Rúmèng, who was as calm as water, he cautiously crossed his arms. “Listen, don’t try anything funny later, alright?”

What? Rúmèng stared wide-eyed at the man before her, her perfect composure shattering instantly.

“I’m telling you, admiration is fine, but no funny business.” The self-absorbed Zhuque took off his robe, cautiously examining her from head to toe.

Admiration? She lay beneath, forced to look up, but certainly without any admiration!

“Hahaha! Hahaha!” A wild laugh erupted from outside the door.

The moment the wooden door was kicked open, Zhuque removed his final layer of clothing and slipped into the warm bed.

Staring, staring—both parties inside the bed glared at each other in a tense standoff. The mutual dislike on their faces somehow transformed into melodious moans of passion at the peak of intimacy.

Talent, Zhuque couldn’t help but inwardly admire the woman beneath him.

She’s talented, Rúmèng reluctantly admitted.

Outside the curtain, Qiu Qiming, pretending to be drunk and foolish, glanced down at the clothes on the stool, a sinister smile curling his lips. Finally found it.

“Who?” A low, hoarse shout came from within the bed curtains.

“Who? Who?” Qiu Qiming slurred excitedly, yanking down the loosely drawn bed curtain. “It's... it's...” Before his drunken words could finish, his tangled tongue froze stiff.

How could this be?!

Qiu Qiming stared at the flat chest before him, his gaze unwillingly sweeping back and forth.

A man? How could it be a man! Earlier, he had tested several times and was almost certain that Feng Yunqing was a woman. Moreover, his cousin had arranged for a senior palace eunuch to examine carefully, further confirming that this person was disguised as a man.

Ah?!

The officials who followed Qiu Qiming into the warm room slumped their shoulders in disappointment, their hopes dashed.

Really a man? Damn, really a man?! Minister Feng clearly smiled like a peach blossom, clearly had a waist as slender as a willow, walked like a gentle breeze, stood still like an orchid, clearly...

Oh, there were countless “clearlys,” clearly making them fantasize endlessly. How, how could he really just be a man?

Zhuque swept his eyes across the room, rolled off the bed, his thin underpants barely concealing his male features.

“Had enough of looking?” He picked up the clothes from the stool and began dressing himself.

A bunch of lechers, Zhuque cursed inwardly. Alas, such a peerless beauty, all wasted on these lustful thoughts. It was just too bad, too bad that the one he cared about most was blind, unable to see his beauty, his goodness! Damn, truly damn.

The lingering faint fragrance on the clothes made him furrow his brows tightly. A seductive demon, even his clothes carried a bewitching scent.

What’s so good about women? Why did his senior apprentice enjoy women? Thinking of this, Zhuque couldn't help but feel resentful. He glared coldly at the petrified crowd, his voice hard: “Women are like chicken ribs to me.”

Rúmèng, who was dressing behind him, stiffened her back, her delicate face slightly trembling. This guy didn’t think about whose reputation he was ruining with his big talk? Talent? She had been blind earlier; he was clearly just a fool.

Tsk! Feng Shaochu likes men!

Hope rekindled in everyone’s eyes again. Looking at his slender waist, the nearly extinguished flames in their hearts reignited. Good, truly good!

“Not good! Not good!” Just as they said it was good, opposition voices came.

“What’s worrying you so much!” Qiu Qiming’s personal servant put on an air of authority.

“The sky... the sky...” The attendant panted heavily, pointing at the roof beams and shouting, “The sky has changed!”

What? Qiu Qiming strode forward, suddenly pushing open the wooden window, causing those behind him to gasp collectively.

“A flying arrow from the sky!”

“An ominous sign...”

The cold wind dispersed the strong smell of alcohol on Qiu Qiming. He looked into the distance; where the stars fell, there seemed to be a red glow.

Dark red, ochre red, crimson red, bright red...

The night sky finally caught fire, with the enchanting flames of Zhu Rong swirling on the horizon.

“That is?!”

“The royal palace is on fire...”

Could His Majesty already be...?

Unpardonable thoughts echoed in everyone’s minds.

Suddenly quiet inside the room, the previously cheerful crowd gently, gently moved their feet, gradually splitting into two distinct groups.

The sky had changed, but the vast Milky Way spanning the court remained unchanged.

This side belonged to Lie Marquis, and that side to Rong Marquis.

The fire illuminated not only the dark night but also ignited the struggle for the crown under the azure sky...

Two Layers of Heart Characters on the Night of Falling Stars

After sunset, one by one, glazed palace lanterns were lit, their faint orange light resembling mist, making the surroundings no longer as concrete as during the day. The grievances of the palace attendants seeped into the night, drifting into the Mo Xiang Hall.

King Qing Ling Zhun was never a king indulging in carnal pleasures, and his diligence meant that he rarely summoned concubines to his chambers. Recently, the scarce opportunities were almost entirely monopolized by that particular consort.

Tonight, how many would weep until dawn?

At this moment, the king, who captivated the palace attendants’ dreams, sat regally in his throne, his tender gaze fixed on the beautiful lady with cascading black hair.

“Dear Consort, is it too hot?” Ling Zhun glanced at the medicine bowl in the handmaid's grasp.

“Yes...” Nong Mo gazed at the steaming herbal decoction, her delicate brows slightly furrowed.

Ling Zhun rose and walked to the intricately carved jade-inlaid palace bed, taking the medicine bowl and gently blowing on it.

“Come.” With a faint smile, he sat on the edge of the bed. “It's not hot anymore.”

“Your Majesty...” Nong Mo looked at the emaciated king before her, her hands trembling as she accepted the porcelain bowl, her voice nearly choked with emotion. “Thank... Your Majesty for your great kindness.”

The thick black liquid entered her mouth, its bitter taste stimulating her taste buds and piercing her tender heart.

Every day, a bowl of imperial medicine and frequent visits from the king made her a thorn in everyone’s eyes.

Favored alone in the pepper chamber? Vast imperial grace?

Unending bitterness condensed into a tear, quivering on her fine, curled eyelashes.

In fact, she understood that what she drank daily was poison, not medicine. Her initial feigned illness to test had now penetrated her very being. Seven years ago, Nong Mo might not have understood this, but Cheng Fei, having weathered the bloodbath of the harem, knew all too well.

His Majesty could not tolerate her.

The tear fell, mingling with the bitter liquid.

She drank it very slowly, so slowly that it seemed she was savoring some exquisite delicacy.

Ten years ago, she was merely a household slave in the General's mansion, a straightforward and lively commoner woman. Compared to her current life of luxury, though poorer then, she was at least happy. During the day, she accompanied the young mistress in reading and playing. At night, she lulled the little ones to sleep.

Back then, she was her true self.

But now...

Nong Mo swallowed another mouthful of bitter liquid.

Now, she was confined to the high towers and deep courtyards, seeing only this patch of sky, embracing only herself.

King Qing lifted her delicate chin, using his fingers to wipe away the medicinal residue from the corner of her lips: “Dear Consort, still so afraid of bitterness.”

This sentence was soft, almost affectionate.

“Your Maje...” Nong Mo stammered.

If only the affection in his eyes were real. But years ago, after touring the Bai E Palace hand in hand amidst blooming jade hairpins, she realized she was merely a substitute.

That day should have been her proudest moment. When the king placed a white jade hairpin in her hair, she mistakenly thought she was the happiest woman in the palace, no, under the entire blue sky. After all, such a brilliant, heroic, and handsome man was the ideal partner she had long yearned for. At that time, she felt as if she were immersed in honey, sweetness permeating her entire being.

If only the king hadn’t passionately called out “Nuan’er” at that moment, or if she hadn’t heard it, how perfect it would have been...

Thinking of this, sorrow clouded Nong Mo’s beautiful visage.

More and more like...

Ling Zhun looked at the beauty before him, her face half-hidden by her black hair, his heart suddenly softened.

It was this very expression—her brows slightly furrowed as if on the verge of a smile yet tinged with sorrow—that cut deepest. Nuan’er, his Nuan’er. After ten years of marriage, the woman he loved most had never once truly smiled. Nuan’er hated him, hated how he had forcefully taken her and imprisoned her within the deep confines of the palace.

Nuan’er was always calm and silent, no matter how much he doted on her, no matter how much he vented his anger upon her. She never spoke, only gazing at him with eyes that carried a faint trace of melancholy, distant and detached.

In the end, he had lost. He loved her, loved her to the point of near humility. The slightest change in her expression could linger in his mind for days, and the faintest hint of a smile on her lips could send him into ecstasy. He had lost, utterly and completely.

But back then, he had been too young, too naive to understand that a king’s love was the deadliest poison of all. The jealousy of the palace attendants, the fear of the noble families—it all coalesced into a noose even he couldn’t break, mercilessly strangling the “softness” in his heart. He knew who had struck the blow, but without evidence, and with the forces behind that person restraining him, there was nothing he could do.

In truth, he was the most pathetic man in the world, so powerless that he couldn’t even avenge the one he loved most.

Now, as the time drew near, he was too excited to sleep, licking his wounds in secret corners, waiting silently for the final strike.

King Qing Ling Zhun’s gaze, filled with both pain and longing, made Nong Mo’s chest tighten even more. It was this look—soft, piercing through her very being, as if she were nothing more than a puppet. Yet, if given the choice, she would willingly become the king’s puppet. Because her heart had already fallen, unknowingly, somewhere along the way, for this man who was so easy to fall in love with.

But he was a king, and a king’s wife was, first and foremost, a “subject.”

She was first and foremost the king’s subject, and only secondarily his concubine.

From the moment she entered these palace gates in that small sedan chair, she no longer had the right to recklessly love a man, even if that man was her husband. Behind her stood the ninth prince, her young master, and the entire Han family. Over the years, whenever she recalled the incident at Lei Yue Ji, what pained her most wasn’t the blade that took away her ability to be a mother, but the loss of that child. In her heart, the young mistress was her child, Nong Mo’s child. And now that the young mistress had returned, she wanted to make amends for her mistakes, offering everything she could as a mother would.

After seven years of sharing a bed, though she still couldn’t fully fathom her inscrutable husband, she at least understood his intentions this time. He hadn’t tried to hide it from her; he had openly given her a choice.

“Dear Consort…” One night, his voice still carried traces of their recent intimacy, softly whispering by her ear. “I’ve had someone calculate it—you know, your niece is destined to be the Empress Star.”

“The Empress Star…” She murmured hesitantly. Yes, there had been such rumors in the Kingdom of You.

“Mm.” The king’s voice was heavy with nasality. His thin, bony hand gently caressed her smooth back. “Your nephew is also a heavenly general reborn. It seems…” The king pulled her tenderly into his arms, his tone ambiguous. “My son cannot do without the support of the Han family.”

Her head shot up in shock, trembling like a delicate flower reflected in water.

The room still bore the lingering traces of their lovemaking, yet his eyes held no remnants of passion. A delicate flower reflected in water, reflected into a cold pond.

“What do you think, dear consort?”

That single question plunged her into hell—not a gentle inquiry, but a cold declaration.

After the king’s death, there would be one Empress Dowager surnamed Han in the palace, one queen surnamed Han, and outside the palace, a commander-in-chief named Han wielding immense military power. At that time, would this kingdom belong to the Ling family or the Han family?

As a counterbalance, there could only be one woman surnamed Han in the palace. And the king’s preference leaned toward fresh blood—toward her young mistress. In truth, the king didn’t need to ask her; her choice would have been the same.

“As Your Majesty wishes,” she replied obediently.

Afterward, they indulged in a night of passionate intimacy…

Now, Nong Mo gazed at the remnants of the herbal medicine at the bottom of the bowl, her lips curling slightly upward. She tilted her head back and drank the remaining liquid clean.

“Your humble servant thanks Your Majesty for your great kindness.”

That soft bow of her head, that fleeting smile, jolted King Qing from his reverie.

No, she wasn’t like Nuan’er at all. The woman before him smiled freely and obeyed him in all things. From her, he had greedily absorbed too much tenderness. That night, when he had coldly informed her of his plans, she had accepted them with a smile. She understood, and yet she chose to comply. While he was satisfied, he also felt a flicker of irritation. Was she, like Nuan’er, eager to leave him?

Consumed by an ever-spreading rage, he voraciously demanded more from her. The wild flames of passion burned them both to ashes.

Afterward, he closed his eyes and feigned sleep, unable to face her just yet.

Half an hour later, warm tears began to fall, one by one, onto his weathered cheeks.

“Your Majesty…” A barely audible sob. “….”

He waited, waited for her to beg for mercy, though he knew he wouldn’t grant it.

“I’m sorry… I love you…” Her voice trembled violently.

His heartbeat faltered, his mouth opened as if to speak, but ultimately, no sound came out.

Many years ago, he had humbly loved a woman. Many years later, a woman humbly loved him.

A heartbreaking cycle, a fate that left him speechless.

He, Ling Zhun, had heard countless declarations of love from women throughout his life. But this one sentence carved itself deeply into his heart. Yet, he was no longer the man he had been years ago. Now, Ling Zhun was too old to give love.

Even if he believed her, he couldn’t let her live.

He couldn’t…

At this thought, King Qing slowly rose, his figure illuminated by the flickering candlelight as he gazed down at the beauty covering her lips with a faint cough. He raised his arm as if to soothe her, but ultimately restrained himself. Lowering his hand, he sighed softly: “Dear consort, take care of yourself. I will come to see you again tomorrow.”

Nong Mo watched his shadow on the floor, capturing every nuance of his fleeting hesitation in her heart. She forced a bitter smile and bowed deeply at the bedside: “Thank you for Your Majesty’s favor. Your humble servant bids farewell to Your Majesty.”

Only after the golden hue of his presence disappeared from her sight did she raise her head, her tear-filled eyes watching his retreating figure grow smaller and smaller. The委屈 in her heart and the heat in her eyes finally overflowed…

“De Xian.” King Qing paused his steps and turned back to look at the Mo Xiang Hall. “From now on, all provisions for Consort Cheng shall be delivered according to the standards of an empress.”

The experienced chief eunuch was momentarily stunned but quickly responded: “Yes.”

Ling Zhun retracted his gaze and turned away without hesitation.

Nong Mo, though I cannot give you what you desire now, I promise you this: the ones who will share my grave—one is her, and the other is you…

By dusk, the sky grew darker, and the winter night pressed heavily upon the silent earth.

On the imperial desk lay an urgent military report delivered over eight hundred miles. It clearly stated: On the twenty-seventh day of the eleventh month, a battle occurred. Four thousand soldiers were lost, thirteen ships destroyed, and forty-six enemies killed. The pirate leader, Lei Lifeng, remains unharmed, while Marquis Yan sustained minor injuries.

Since moving to the imperial study, King Qing had sat staring at this report for half an hour, his expression calm, eerily calm.

At the Yu Cheng Alliance, his promise to resolve the southeastern maritime troubles within two months was made partly to assert authority and partly out of confidence. Upon returning to court, he sent his twelfth son, Ling Moran, to lead the naval forces. First, because the navy consisted mostly of soldiers loyal to Moran’s maternal family, and second, because the third prince’s wedding was approaching. Moran’s infatuation with the chancellor’s daughter was no secret to him. Though his son was brave, he was also reckless. At this critical juncture, it was better to send Moran to the front lines, letting him vent his frustrations through battle.

Yet, no amount of calculation could have predicted such an outcome. Thirty thousand men in the Yangzhou navy versus three thousand southeastern pirates—a single battle had decided the fate of the war.

Was Moran incompetent?

No, he understood his son well. The pirate leader, Lei Lifeng, must have been extraordinary. Such talent—how had he ended up as a pirate?

“Something’s wrong! Something’s wrong!”

The panicked cries irritated King Qing. Before he could speak, De Xian sharply reprimanded: “His Majesty is here! What’s all this commotion about!”

“Your humble servant greets Your Majesty.” The young eunuch abruptly knelt, his face pale with panic as he looked up. “Your Majesty, something terrible has happened! A meteor fell like an arrow, and heavenly fire descended. The Chang Yin Court beyond the Zuo Shun Gate is on fire!”

What?! Ling Zhun slammed the table and stood up, his eyes flashing with excitement. The Chang Yin Court—the repository of the genealogical records of Qing’s noble families—was on fire?!

Impatiently waving his sleeve, the young eunuch scrambled away on hands and knees.

De Xian watched as King Qing paced back and forth, his body trembling slightly, and couldn’t help but feel astonished. He had never seen the king so agitated. This demeanor didn’t seem like panic—it seemed more like ecstatic joy.

“Heheheh…” Ling Zhun stopped and chuckled softly, nodding repeatedly. Good, good, excellent work. Little Nine’s calculated move had hit the right spot.

“Hahahaha…” His low chuckle erupted into unrestrained laughter, shaking his head with satisfaction. Finally, he had waited for this day, finally!

“De Xian.” Instantly, King Qing sobered, his eyes blazing with determination. “I order you personally to supervise the situation. Ensure that the fire is extinguished only after the Chang Yin Court has been completely consumed.”

Afterward? De Xian sucked in a sharp breath, glancing at the king with confusion.

“You understand? Hmm?” A cold smirk tugged at the corners of King Qing’s lips.

That smile confirmed to De Xian that he hadn’t misheard. Bowing respectfully, he replied: “Your humble servant understands.”

“Mm.” King Qing walked to the window and asked in a low voice, “Which two ministers are on night duty today?”

“Replying to Your Majesty, it's Minister Luo and Minister Yu.”

“Good!” Ling Zhun clapped his hands firmly—it was as if heaven was aiding him! “Deliver my oral decree: urgently summon the two ministers to the Fengtian Gate for an emergency meeting.”

It was time to settle accounts. King Qing pushed open the eastern window and gazed up at the vast sky.

Tonight, meteors were dazzling...

Starfall Night—A Snip of Longing

Two soft knocks sounded.

Outside the door stood a maid adorned with red tassels, wearing a pink-blue floral coat—clearly a household servant from a wealthy family.

“Miss, it's me.” With that, she pushed the door open.

In the dark night, with the northern wind howling, a single lamp flickered dimly in the embroidery chamber.

“Put it down.” Her voice was like a young oriole’s first trill, clear and melodious as jade striking metal.

The maid obediently placed the tonic down and sighed softly as she watched her mistress practicing calligraphy at the desk. She bent down to light the cooled charcoal stove, and only then did the cold room begin to warm slightly.

She looked at the empty red cloth in surprise and spoke softly: “Miss, you haven’t started embroidering yet?”

The eighth day of the twelfth lunar month was the day of the miss's wedding. In Shenkun, the red veil worn by the bride should be embroidered by her own hands. With only five days left until the wedding, the miss hadn’t even begun sketching the design. Was she still unwilling?

Holding her hands gently, the maid quietly walked to the side of the desk and looked closely under the dim light. Those clear, apricot-shaped eyes were fixed downward, brimming with infinite longing. The young lady was truly beautiful, she couldn’t help but marvel internally. Compared to another renowned beauty in Yundu—Miss Rong—her own mistress lacked some elegance but carried an ethereal charm.

On the desk lay a satin-bound poetry collection. The ink characters on the paper were sharp and delicate, their strokes masterful and refined.

The blue-clad maid stood silently to one side, admiring her mistress's posture as she held the brush. With a flick of her wrist, the strokes flowed effortlessly onto the paper, each stroke perfectly matching the handwriting in the poetry collection. She understood well: these horizontal, vertical, and slanted strokes captured eight years of the mistress’s deep, unspoken love.

“Luo Yi.” A clear voice broke the silence.

“Miss.”

Dong Huiru, without lifting her gaze, wielded the brush like a dragon weaving through clouds: “You go ahead and embroider.” Her tone was casual, as if the matter had nothing to do with her.

“Miss?!” Luo Yi exclaimed disapprovingly. “How… how can this be?”

Dong Huiru remained silent, focusing intently on her writing. The pearl hairpin atop her head trembled slightly, its butterfly motif lifelike.

Luo Yi, who had served her for ten years, understood well that this wordless silence represented stubborn persistence. Without further words, Luo Yi quietly sat down at the embroidery frame, picked up a charcoal pencil, and raised her head to ask: “What pattern would the miss like?”

“Anything.”

Knowing full well this would be the answer, she shouldn’t have asked. Luo Yi took out the pattern book and began selecting.

Peony for wealth and honor? The miss had a detached temperament; luxury was not her desire.

Mandarin ducks playing in water? Luo Yi stole a glance at the desk, sighed, and lowered her eyes. Although the third prince was a man of great talent, he was not the dream lover of her mistress.

“How about 'A Hundred Years of Harmony'?” She selected the pattern and began to carefully trace it.

Miss, life is not a play, and marriage cannot be decided by oneself. You must accept it. This was what Luo Yi wanted to say, but she knew it would be futile. The miss had already fallen deeply in love with that person, consumed by infatuation, unable to control her feelings.

On the red cloth, a single lotus swayed gracefully, exuding charm.

If only you knew, we’d stroll together, watching the distant waters lap against the shore where sandpipers glide.

Clouds and waters stretch endlessly for thousands of miles, and spring tides rise to meet playful boats dancing in the breeze.

Longing surged within her as she read those four lines. Dong Huiru's lips curved into a smile, her voice reminiscent of famous singers of old. Her beloved was now in this very city.

Lost in thought, she felt the ink characters on the page come alive, leaping off the page and transforming into a fine drizzle, falling silently.

Sss...sss...sss...sss—the sound of rain became music, carrying her back to that year...

“Miss, please be careful.” Luo Yi held the embroidered handkerchief, shielding her mistress as they hurried along. Fine raindrops fell upon Dong Huiru’s pale face, sliding down her neck.

She was born into a family of wealth and status, the third daughter of the current Left Chancellor. Her mother, the chancellor’s first wife, had been frail and sickly, passing away at the end of last winter. After her mother’s death, her stepmother took control of the household, making life difficult for her as the legitimate daughter. Her marriage prospects were snatched away and given to her older sisters. Such was the coldness of familial ties.

At the age of nine, she became an insignificant presence in the Left Chancellor’s household. Due to her aloof nature and snow-white complexion, she was seen as a ghostly figure, cold and untouchable. After the New Year, her maternal grandfather, grieving for his late daughter and pitying her youth, invited her to stay in Jiangdong for a while.

Little did they know the weather in the southeast could change so suddenly. They set out under bright skies, only for it to turn misty and rainy moments later.

“Miss, let me wipe your face.” Thirteen-year-old Luo Yi pulled out a silk handkerchief from her sleeve, ready to dry Dong Huiru’s face. Suddenly, a gust of wind swept the delicate silk from her grasp.

“Ah!” Luo Yi chased after it out of the pavilion, only to watch it drift into a puddle, soaking up the water and turning a vivid shade of rouge. “Hmph!” Frustrated, Luo Yi stamped her foot, cursing herself inwardly for her clumsiness.

“It’s alright, Luo Yi.” The small, gentle voice of the child floated out. “Come inside quickly.”

“Yes...” The little maid hung her head in dejection.

Even in April, there was still a lingering chill, and the cool rain slid down Dong Huiru’s long hair, seeping through her thin clothing.

“Uh... ah-choo...” She covered her mouth with her sleeve, wrinkling her delicate nose.

After a while, she opened her hazy eyes. Before her was a long, clean hand holding a simple, plain handkerchief.

She lifted her head in astonishment. The person before her was like a bamboo stalk—graceful in smoke, rain, and wind.

“Wipe your face,” those clear, warm eyes held hers, refusing to let go. “The weather shifts between heat and cold—it’s easy to catch a chill. Please accept my kindness.”

She couldn’t speak—not because she didn’t want to, but because she was already entranced, lost in the fresh breeze.

What happened next, she could no longer recall. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to remember—it was that she had fallen into a daze. Vaguely, she accepted the handkerchief, lowered her head, and smiled silently until a voice called her back to reality.

“Yuanzhong!”

In a haze, she watched as the “bamboo stalk” gave a crisp smile and turned away. His elegant figure disappeared into the rain of early summer.

Snap—she heard a faint sound from a corner of her heart. Something sprouted timidly, pushing forth a tender bud.

Later, she learned his name, collected his handwritten poetry collections, and began to painstakingly copy and trace every stroke.

Later, she bloomed like a lotus after the rain, revealing her pure beauty.

Later, she gained fame throughout the capital, becoming a daughter her father took pride in and a commodity waiting to be sold.

Later, she treasured this youthful love, rejecting the fervent pursuits of princes and nobles.

Later, she waited for him to enter the court, only to receive the merciless imperial edict.

A drop of ink fell, spreading thickly across the paper. A tear slipped down, blending into the ink.

She retrieved the square handkerchief kept close to her body and gently pressed it to her nose. With all her might, she inhaled deeply, wanting to engrave his scent into her heart.

“Yuanzhong... Yuanzhong...” She murmured his name greedily, her tender fingers tracing the ink marks on the page. Faced with the pressure from the twelfth prince, she had managed to escape unscathed. This time, she was determined to fulfill her heart’s desire.

Thinking of this, her lovely lips bloomed like a flower, forming a radiant smile. Her cheeks flushed red, her brows painted green, resembling the painting of a misty April day.

“Luo Yi.” Her laughter rippled, her face radiant and elegant.

“What is it, Miss?” Luo Yi busied herself with her needlework, responding softly.

“Tomorrow, accompany me to burn incense.”

“Alright.” Luo Yi answered absentmindedly.

“I want to see him.” Dong Huiru’s smile was filled with emotion, her face glowing like peach blossoms.

“Who?”

“Yuanzhong.” She whispered, unable to restrain her feelings.

The silver needle slipped, piercing Luo Yi’s fingertip, drawing a bloom of blood.

In the boudoir, the candlelight flickered, filling the room with silence.

“Master! Something’s wrong! Something’s wrong!”

Outside, the cold wind howled fiercely, the cries shaking the heavens.

“A comet, a comet has descended upon the world!”

A snip of longing—restless hearts find no sleep.

Fortune and misfortune, two different worlds.

Tonight, fate took a turn toward the other side...