Mingxuan was silent for a long time. At last, he walked up the jade steps and sat on his throne, lifting a hand. "Come here."
Xiangge's heart pounded. He took a step forward, then stopped. He could not understand what he was feeling. Why was that person calling him?
He turned to leave the hall.
Mingxuan's voice cut through the silence. "Are you defying Zhen's decree?" The tone was firm.
Xiangge froze. Then he crossed the hall quickly, climbed the jade steps, and stopped before the throne. "What is it?" he asked rudely.
Mingxuan tapped the jade desk with the tip of his finger. "Sit."
A chill ran down Xiangge's spine. "I–"
"Sit."
Xiangge slowly sat on the edge of the jade desk, facing him. The faint scent of sandalwood lingered in the air, filling his lungs until he felt light-headed.
Mingxuan, even in this position, seemed taller than him. His face showed no emotion. "Untie your belt."
The words slapped him as if being dumped by a bucket full of ice. Xiangge's mind went blank, body trembled, heart pounding against ribs. He swallowed hard.
For a bare moment, memories flashed past him mind. Memories of those same words being spoken...
One cold and unpleasant night he tried to hold to his dignity, to flee, but lost everything through his grasp...
Xiangge lowered his head , suppressing the memories back into the depths. A convulsive sniffle escaped his lips. A single tear slid down the tip of his nose and fell.
He loosened his waist belt with shaking hands and looked up with red-rimmed eyes. "You cleared my name. So... now I should listen to you?"
Mingxuan's gaze did not waver. "No. Zhen is your superior. You should listen to Zhen."
He slipped his hands beneath Xiangge's robes and pressed his palms against his back. The injury flared at once under his touch.
The bare skin was inflamed, muscles beneath, throbbing with pain.
Xiangge gritted his teeth, each breath sharp with agony. Pain lanced through his back as if molten fire crawled along his spine, then slowly bled into a strange warmth.
Mingxuan's hands moved over him with deliberate rhythm, cold in expression yet gentle in motion.
He pressed and massaged the swollen skin, and with each touch, a faint pulse of spiritual energy seeped into Xiangge, dulling the pain.
It took a moment before Xiangge realized what was happening. Mingxuan was healing the deep injury in his spine.
No one spoke. The hall was still except for Xiangge's ragged, restrained breaths and the mournful wail of the wind outside.
Xiangge gulped, closing his wet eyes. A shudder ran through him as he tried to grasp the why of it all, why Mingxuan broke him only to mend him, why the same hands that had wrapped around his throat now eased the fire in his back.
His body ached with exhaustion, every muscle heavy from the road, from kneeling on the cold floor for hours, from the endless tension that had coiled inside him like a living thing.
His limbs felt distant, almost unreal, as if he were watching them from afar.
Slowly, his consciousness began to scatter, slipping at the edges.
The hands that had held him so firmly withdrew, and the pain that had dominated his spine was gone.
Mingxuan's voice came quiet, almost gentle. "You can leave now if you want."
"What?" Xiangge's voice was hoarse. Their eyes met again.
"Didn't you want to live a normal life? Today Zhen allows you. Leave Yunshan Palace. Go as far away as you can, and never come back to my sight again."
The words hit like thunder. Like a blade through his chest, draining his blood, drop by drop until nothing remained.
These were the words Xiangge had longed for. For years. Every night. Every waking moment.
He should feel relief. Joy. Freedom.
Instead, his chest hollowed out. His throat closed. He tried to laugh, but his face wouldn't cooperate. It twisted.
Tears poured down, hot and burning, and he couldn't stop them. His hands shook. Rage surged beneath the grief.
"So you knew. You knew I didn't kill her. You knew all along, and you–" He choked. "What are you trying to do?"
For a moment, Mingxuan saw not the man before him, but the child who used to cry breathlessly in his arms.
He wanted to wipe away those tears, like he used to do long ago. But in the end, he didn't.
He carefully pulled Xiangge's robes back into place and retied his waist belt. When he spoke, his voice was indifferent. "You should thank Zhen. If you were still a convicted criminal, how far would you get before they hunted you down?"
Xiangge's throat tightened. "Mingxuan, don't think this erases what you did. I will never forgive you."
Mingxuan swallowed. Blood filled his mouth, bitter and black. Jinghuo was reacting faster than he thought.
The wound in his chest was throbbing. He closed his eyes and said nothing. He let go of Xiangge.
Xiangge immediately got up and stepped back. Silence stretched again.
Xiangge knew he should leave, but something held him back. In the end, he couldn't take it anymore. "The poison..."
"Zhen is fine," Mingxuan said, voice carefully neutral.
Fine? After using a dozen energy-draining spells? Xiangge gritted his teeth. "Don't forget it's Jinghuo! Shenya didn't even last one hour–"
"So what?" Mingxuan's expression hardened. "Zhen has endured worse than death. What's one more poison?"
"But you'll lose your cultivation." Tears burned Xiangge's eyes. He didn't bother wiping them away. "Can you bear that?"
Mingxuan's gaze fixed on him. "Consider it repayment," he said quietly. "I took something from you that night. Something I had no right to take. So I'll give you this in return. My cultivation. My power. Everything."
Xiangge staggered as though the ground had dropped beneath him. Tears poured down his face, unstoppable now, blurring his vision.
He stepped back. Once. Twice. "Mingxuan..." His head shook, slow and disbelieving. "You're mad!"
Mingxuan leaned back against his throne and closed his eyes. "Leave."
Xiangge said nothing. Did not bow. Did not look back.
He ran.
So Mingxuan never saw the tears still streaming down Xiangge's face. And Xiangge never saw the black blood trailing from Mingxuan's lips, dripping onto the jade like ink on snow.
***
Outside the Court Hall, Eunuch Zhu hugged a bamboo tree and retched.
He held onto the slender trunk for dear life, retching his soul out as if trying to cough up his ancestry. His robes were half-askew, face green, lips pale, and one foot slightly lifted like he was halfway to ascend.
Beside him, Rumeng massaged his own throat with both hands, his face contorted in a mix of guilt and exaggerated worry.
"Okay, okay! You agreed to the plan!" he protested, voice rising like he was defending himself in court. "And I did warn you: any more delay, and you'd suffer worse!"
Eunuch Zhu turned his head, red-eyed and trembling with fury. "Suffer? You lunatic, this isn't suffering! This is murder! You're giving a sixty-year-old a heart attack!!"
Rumeng blinked.
Then, solemnly: "Well. I don't kill pigs."
Zhu dry-heaved again, almost collapsing onto the bamboo.
"You damn little! Wait till I finish vomiting! I swear I'll shove your radish down your–RETCH!"
Their bickering was loud enough to startle nearby bats into flight. But neither noticed the slender white figure storming out of the court hall, robes whipping like torn wings.
They only realized something was wrong when Rumeng suddenly found a hand around his neck.
"Aack!! L-Lord Xuanji–!"
Xiangge's grip was tight and trembling. Rumeng gasped, slapping at his wrist in panic.
"Cough! Your Highness! My windpipe! Why is it always the neck?! Can't someone grab a leg for once? Or cough... maybe a shoulder?!"
Zhu, still bent over and swaying, glared sideways at him. "Should've left it at the palace gate if you didn't want it touched.
Rumeng's face twisted, eyes watering. "You're evil!"
"Fourth Prince!" Eunuch Zhu said with a pained bow, then immediately turned and vomited again.
Rumeng blinked again. "Wait... Prince. You're crying–!"
Eunuch Zhu also turned around, startled. The Fourth Prince rarely even smiled; to see him crying was like watching snow catch fire.
Xiangge's tear-filled eyes were red and burning, as if a raging fire hid beneath their surface, dangerously close to madness.
"Rumeng," he choked, voice tight. "Where are the herbs I asked for? It's been three weeks! Three whole weeks!"
Rumeng's expression shifted. Gently, he pulled Xiangge aside. "Lord Xuanji, don't worry. Junshang won't die so easily.
Xiangge's breath hitched. "What–?"
"I already know," Rumeng sighed. "I was hiding behind a tree. I saw it all."
"Then... you know I... stabbed him–?
"I know you." Rumeng's voice softened. "You thought he'd dodge. I saw it in the way you moved: hesitant, panicked. But your tricks won't work on Junshang. He raised you. No one knows you better than he does."
"I hate him... But still... he shouldn't die."
"He won't. Jinghuo is fatal to mortals, but Junshang's cultivation is the highest in Xuan Huang. He'll survive."
"But he'll lose his cultivation!" Xiangge said hoarsely. "He didn't even dodge. He just stood there and let me stab him!"
"Then why stab him?" Rumeng asked quietly. "If you go that far, you have to accept the consequences."
Xiangge kicked a nearby stone, fists clenched.
Rumeng looked at him with a bittersweet smile. "It hurts, doesn't it? That guilt. But isn't this what you wanted? He's hurt. So why are you crying?"
Xiangge choked. Tears kept spilling, unstoppable.
Rumeng sighed and rested a hand on his shoulder. "You care about him, Ah'Xiang. You just don't want to admit it."
Xiangge froze. His heart skipped. "Nonsense," he said hoarsely. His tear-streaked lashes trembled like butterfly wings. "He destroyed me. Don't ever say that again!"
Rumeng didn't flinch. "Love and hate: neither can be controlled. Deny it all you want, but you still have to face it."
Xiangge broke free, pale and shaking. He turned to leave.
"Wait!" Rumeng called. "If you're worried about him, trust me. He's not dying. Not yet."
Xiangge hesitated.
"Junshang carries a five-element core. The poison won't take hold immediately. The rest... is up to you." Rumeng squeezed his shoulder slightly.
Xiangge turned, dazed. The weight of those words pressed down.
"I already delivered the herbs and medicines. They're in your residence. You have three days before the poison starts devouring him from within."
Xiangge stood frozen.
Then laughed. Quiet, broken, bitter.
"What am I supposed to do?" he whispered. "Three days? I've been chasing an antidote for a year! What can I possibly do in three days?"
Rumeng smiled, genuinely. "You'll find a way. Even if the antidote's not ready, you can still slow the poison. You just need time. And I trust you."
Xiangge looked stunned, clutching the last thread of light in a world falling apart.
"...Yes," he whispered. "Yes... I can..."
And with that, he disappeared into the night.
Rumeng's smile faded slowly.
"You stabbed him," he murmured. "You're drowning in guilt... so why can't you just admit you love him?"
He turned and found Eunuch Zhu was already gone.
***
It was deep into the fourth watch when Emperor Mingxuan stepped out of the court hall. The wind was silent, and the mountain air frostier than usual. Mist stuck to his dragon robe like wet silk, soaking through layer by layer.
Yunshan Jade Palace sat high atop a tall peak, veiled day and night in drifting fog. Tonight, the mountain ranges beyond loomed ghostlike beneath the dark sky.
The wound in his chest ached.
Half an hour ago, Eunuch Zhu saw him cough up blood.
Zhu had knelt, wept, begged, asking him to take medicines.
But he had remained unmoved. The blood in his mouth had already turned black. He didn't care.
It wasn't the wound that hurt.
Nor the poison.
It was something deeper. Something he refused to name.
He walked slowly toward Feilong Palace, his official residence. A place of silence and sealed wards.
Though there were no visible guards, Mingxuan knew he was watched. Shadow guards lingered always, watching from corners no one else could see.
The entrance stood quiet. Two guards bowed low. "Junshang!"
"Seal the gates." He entered.
Inside, a few maids and eunuchs waited to serve him. He waved them away before they could even bow.
"Zhen will manage alone."
Without waiting for acknowledgment, he turned and entered his chambers.
With a flick of his soaked sleeve, the carved doors slid shut behind him.
Even the sound of Zhu's weeping faded into silence.
The room was dim, shadows swallowing the corners. The Emperor disliked bright light at night. It seemed Eunuch Zhu had already prepared everything in advance.
Mingxuan exhaled quietly, stepped toward the bed, and began to undress.
He loosened the black-and-gold outer robe and let it fall aside. The golden inner robe beneath was still damp with mist. One by one, he peeled away the layers, until only the white inner garments remained.
The cloth clung tightly to his chest.
It had been hours since the stab. Blood and flesh had dried into the fabric. He tore it away without flinching.
The wound reopened.
Fresh, black-tinged blood slid down the ridges of his bare chest, staining the folds of his white trousers.
His body was lean, youthful, and refined by years of cultivation. But now it bore a raw, bloody mark.
Mingxuan sat at the edge of the bed.
"Zhen needs rest," he said quietly. "So you should leave."
For a long time, there was no movement in the room.
Then, from the shadows, a figure stepped forward.
A slender form emerged under the soft lamplight. Half his face veiled in shadow, but no darkness could hide his beauty or the sorrow etched across it. His lips trembled faintly. His eyes, rimmed red, locked onto the Emperor.
They stared at each other in silence. One standing, the other seated. Neither looking away.
Mingxuan's gaze was sharp, like unsheathed daggers, dazzling and cold.
After a while, Xiangge's gaze dropped. He couldn't stand those eyes anymore. He looked away, expression unreadable.
Mingxuan didn't move. "Zhen thought you would never step into this chamber again," he said quietly, and quite meaningfully. "Zhen truly misjudged."
***
Glossary
• Fourth watch: 3-5 AM.
• Feilong Palace (飞龙宫): Soaring Dragon Palace, the official residence of Mingxuan.