#39: Stormy Winds and Endless Rain (II)

Ye Tingyan lifted his eyelids, his pitch-black pupils staring directly at her.

Just moments ago, there was a flicker of distraction on his face—perhaps when he uttered “unspoken grievances” or when he accidentally said “you” instead of “Your Majesty.”

Luo Wei stared intently for a while but could no longer discern anything.

She still held the brush Ye Tingyan had handed her earlier—a Sanzhuo brush used for copying Buddhist scriptures in Xiu Qing Temple. This brush had no core and was favored by literati.

Moments ago, eager to question him, she had moved closer. Now, she was just inches away from him.

Ye Tingyan ignored her question and leaned forward slightly, bringing his face close to hers.

His warm breath brushed against her skin, tingling and ticklish, like the sensation of falling petals brushing lightly across her cheek.

Luo Wei didn’t retreat. She stood firmly in place, though her breathing quickened slightly.

He keenly noticed her change and smirked with narrowed eyes.

Seeing this expression, Luo Wei lowered her gaze.

She expected him to kiss her as he had before without hesitation.

Surprisingly, he didn’t.

Ignoring her question, Ye Tingyan slid his hand down her shoulder and firmly grabbed her hand holding the brush.

Instinctively, Luo Wei tried to pull her hand back, but he wouldn’t let go. Instead, he pulled her up with him as he stood.

She retreated two steps, only to be yanked back forcefully by Ye Tingyan.

Standing behind her, he encircled her with his arms, one hand gripping her hand and the other pressing on her shoulder, preventing her from moving.

In this position, Ye Tingyan guided her hand to write. The first stroke landed in the last empty house of her horoscope chart.

It was meant to fill in the main star of her Life Palace.

Luo Wei resisted fiercely, making the stroke tremble uncontrollably.

She whispered sharply, “You!”

Seemingly absentmindedly, Ye Tingyan rested his chin on her shoulder, his voice hoarse: “You asked me how I knew? Once I finish writing, I’ll tell you.”

This somewhat familiar gesture startled Luo Wei momentarily, lessening her resistance. Taking advantage of her distraction, Ye Tingyan guided her hand to write two neat characters in her Life Palace.

—Ziwei.

Her Life Palace contained the Ziwei star, but he added a grass radical, turning “micro” into “Vitis,” reminiscent of her name’s botanical connotation—a playful tease.

After finishing, he murmured softly, “Ziwei alone governs fate… Sometimes, do you feel lonely?”

Luo Wei looked down; her fingers trembled—the “Ziwei” they wrote together closely resembled her former style, blending the elegance of Lanting with dry ink and white spaces.

Under these circumstances, the resemblance to her own handwriting was uncanny!

Suppressing her shock, suspicion, and various emotions, Luo Wei forced herself to remain calm: “You haven’t answered my question yet.”

“Back when we were at Xiu Qing Temple, I told you… Since leaving the capital that year, not a moment has passed without thinking of you, wondering when and how we’d meet again.” Ye Tingyan’s voice was soft, devoid of all reverence. He hovered near her ear, almost as if about to kiss her: “My heart is so sincere, my vows so venomous. How could you not believe a single word?”

If his earlier confession under the ancient tree seemed like a fabricated lie, this speech, upon careful listening, carried genuine emotion.

Ye Tingyan’s words were half-truths, but when sorrow overtook him, genuine feelings spilled out.

Luo Wei prided herself on being able to see through people’s hearts. Detecting his seemingly genuine affection left her flustered. Back in the dim canopy, she had sensed lingering affection beneath the surface of desire.

Previously, it was subtle, and she dismissed it as an illusion.

Today, to answer her question, he refused to conceal it further.

Ye Tingyan took the Sanzhuo brush from her hand and guided her fingers to trace the freshly written characters: “When I first met you, you hadn’t mastered this elegant script. Later, I scoured the land, exhausting every effort, to obtain a piece of your calligraphy.”

Luo Wei’s hand trembled.

Besides Lu Heng, someone else had seen her previous handwriting?

Lu Heng had stolen a letter from Zhang Bu Jun to obtain her script. Unlike ordinary literati, royals practiced regulated scripts to avoid scrutiny and entrapment.

Yet, in her youth, she stubbornly developed her unique style, aspiring to match renowned scholars of the era. She once fumed when her father confiscated her posts, forbidding them from circulating.

After learning her lesson, she understood the stakes and began practicing restraint, learning to hide her brilliance like Yu Qiushi.

Though their calligraphy occasionally leaked, they frequently changed styles to avoid becoming liabilities.

Ye Tingyan imitated her old handwriting—surely, she must have left traces during her time at the Crane-Release Academy in Xu Prefecture or when departing Bianjing. A determined person could gather them.

Fortunately, he wasn’t in Bianjing long enough to forge her handwriting for nefarious purposes.

Continuing, Ye Tingyan said, “Since obtaining it, I’ve traced it daily, pondering nightly over your penmanship. Now you understand why I know this, right? Look, how well I’ve learned!”

Having finished, he surprisingly released her.

Luo Wei rubbed her wrist and straightened up, her mind in turmoil, still shaken.

Thinking of how he collected her handwriting to study, combined with his words, she felt a chill.

Seeing her tremble, Ye Tingyan even smiled: “What? Knowing my feelings, are you afraid?”

Luo Wei struggled to compose herself but couldn’t help retreating a step while steadying herself with a hand on her forehead.

She should be pleased—if this man harbored a sliver of “genuine” affection amidst their delicate relationship, wielding this leverage could extract more from him than mere protection.

But for some reason, she only felt waves of palpitations.

How could such a person harbor “genuine” feelings?

How should such a person have “genuine” feelings?

What would such “genuine” feelings look like?

If this “genuine” affection were still a facade, could she handle him afterward?

As if hearing her thoughts, Ye Tingyan approached her, speaking calmly. He hadn’t intended to say so much, but the words flowed unchecked: “You wonder why I’ve been different lately? When I first saw you, I couldn’t contain my emotions, acting so entangled. Recently, tossing and turning at night, I kept thinking, if I act this way, how am I different from others you use? I must respect you, cherish you, love you, and make you realize—even if you use others, I am the most reliable one!”

Luo Wei was cornered in a corner of the meditation room. Feeling a cold chill behind her, she swallowed hard, forcing composure: “Is that so?”

Ye Tingyan gritted his teeth: “Naturally!”

To cover his initial slip of familiarity, he fabricated this string of words. Now, it seemed he had deceived not only her but himself—perhaps it wasn’t deception at all. His heart overflowed with unspoken words, and seizing this opportunity, he poured them out recklessly.

Yet, as he spoke, the pain within intensified.

Countless nights alone in his residence, gazing at the moon and flower trees, he refused to admit how much he hated her betrayal, yet remained obsessed. Even after enduring torment akin to rolling in oil and retrieving bones from Avici Hell, seeing her become a seductress with countless admirers, he still loved her!

Ye Tingyan extended an arm beside her, barely suppressing the latent malevolence within: “Before I could express my feelings, you became Empress. What could I do then? What options did I have?”

His head buzzed, yet suddenly, the moon he saw on that Lantern Festival night three years ago surfaced in his mind.

Reluctantly looking up, he watched the moon on the water’s surface drift away, unreachable, untouchable. The ripples distorted its reflection, shattering even the illusion.

Rather than hating her, he despised himself. He loathed this version of himself, memories vivid, yet here he was, spilling his heart, lungs, liver, and blood raw.

While she prayed to Buddha earlier, he casually followed suit, bowing to each deity but only sneering at the statues.

Once a devout believer, falling into the abyss revealed no salvation.

Ye Tingyan lowered his head, laughing mockingly. Suddenly, his head throbbed painfully, and his vision turned crimson. The phantoms that haunted his nights appeared in broad daylight, brandishing weapons, charging at him.

Terrified, Luo Wei looked up to see his bloodshot eyes, unsteady on his feet, swaying toward her. Sensing something amiss, she suppressed her chaotic thoughts and called, “Lord Ye?”

“Ye Tingyan!”

Unaware of what Ye Tingyan saw, he suddenly closed his eyes, gasping heavily, grabbing at the air. She reached out to steady him but ended up collapsing with him onto the ground.

With no time to waste and far from the door, Luo Wei pried his fingers clutching her shoulder, intending to send Yan Luo to fetch Pei Xi and bring a physician.

Barely freed, before standing up, Ye Tingyan tugged her sleeve, his voice faint with a hint of despair: “…Don’t leave.”

Looking at his pitiful state, Luo Wei felt a pang in her heart.

After a moment, she snapped out of it, nearly fleeing as she tugged her sleeve free, rushing toward the door.

With both hands empty, Ye Tingyan collapsed clumsily to the floor, feeling extreme pain and unbearable eye soreness.

Now, tears—whether from his eye condition or heartache—flowed freely.

The sheet of paper charting her horoscope fluttered gently to the ground. He reached for it, first seeing “Sun,” then “Ziwei.” He recalled plucking ziwei flowers to adorn her hair the first time he walked her past Qionghua Hall.

Seeing ziwei, remembering her.

Words echoed, but those days were forever gone.

Yan Luo opened the door and saw Luo Wei’s demeanor, knowing something was wrong. Glancing inside, she was even more alarmed. Following Luo Wei’s instructions, she supported her towards the old hall they came from and cleverly enlisted a clueless child from Xiu Qing Temple to deliver a message to Pei Xi.

Unaware of what transpired, Yan Luo noticed Luo Wei trembling uncontrollably and reminded her: “Your Majesty, your hands are so cold.”

Hearing this, Luo Wei gripped Yan Luo tightly, her voice quivering: “I, I…”

Yan Luo urgently asked, “Did that Ye San commit some overstepping act?”

Luo Wei shook her head wildly, stumbling a step in the corridor: “No, I just… earlier…”

Before finishing, she fell silent again.

Again, she thought of an old acquaintance.

When he tugged her sleeve, she wondered if he had ever felt this drowning-like desperation—that day, after realizing her letter deceived him into eating poisoned cake or when Lu Heng stabbed him in the chest and pushed him into the water?

Ye Tingyan had bared his soul to her, yet perceiving his affection, she shamefully fell into the illusion she experienced under that dark canopy—imagining kisses that would never come, pleas from the past. She realized she was teetering on madness, mistaking this cunning snake for a long-lost lover.

However, since he offered ambiguous sincerity, why not repay him with emotions she wasn’t sure were real? He was too smart for ordinary deceptions, but what if even she couldn’t distinguish reality from illusion in that fleeting moment?

“I just realized I have a new weapon.” Luo Wei wiped away an unshed tear, murmuring, “Unfortunately… I originally wanted to discuss the lotus banquet with him today, but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. There’s plenty of time. If that’s the case, perhaps he can do more for me than I imagined. Yes, definitely more…”

They reached the old hall and sat on a prayer mat. Luo Wei continued muttering to herself. Yan Luo wiped the cold sweat from her forehead with a handkerchief, unable to bear interrupting her repetitive whispers: “Luo Wei!”

Startled by Yan Luo’s shout, Luo Wei finally snapped out of it. Recognizing Yan Luo, she exhaled deeply. Yan Luo grabbed her hand, noticing crescent-shaped marks on her palm from digging her nails too deep.

She embraced Luo Wei, listening to her recount the thoughts that had just overwhelmed her, finally seeing some relief.

Inside the old hall, the Buddha statue had been partially melted by fire, appearing both divine and demonic.

After Pei Xi arrived, Yan Luo discreetly led him aside and asked, “What ailment is this?”

Pei Xi replied succinctly, “Heart disease triggered by chronic headaches, likely rooted in youthful infatuation and subsequent family tragedy, leading to obsession.”

Yan Luo returned, boarding the carriage back to the palace. Luo Wei had completely masked her earlier expressions, lifting the curtain indifferently to glance outside.

“Little Pei said Lord Ye has heart disease, and his delusions might stem from this—infatuated at first sight, devoted for years, then devastated by family ruin, thus becoming increasingly obsessive.” Yan Luo whispered, “If everything unfolds as Your Majesty anticipates, how should we deal with Lord Ye after success? If he harbors such terrifying affection for Your Majesty, he won’t easily give up.”

Luo Wei released the curtain, answering succinctly: “Kill.”