Chapter Nine: A Rainy Night

At dusk, a sudden downpour interrupted Ling Zetian and his companions' journey. They had planned to travel a dozen more miles to reach the next town for the night, but the torrential rain made further progress impossible. After searching for some time, they finally spotted a string of red lanterns swaying uncertainly in the wind and rain not far ahead. As they drew closer, they found it was an inn.

To find such a place in this desolate countryside was a stroke of fortune amidst misfortune; at least they would not have to sleep under the open sky tonight, for a rain like this would surely leave them chilled and ill.

Ling Zetian instructed Yu Fan to secure several upper rooms and settle everyone in. He then carried the still-sleeping Feng Qiuji back to her room.

After a day of arduous travel, everyone was weary. They ate a quick meal and retired to their rooms for rest, knowing they needed to rise early for the road ahead. Ling Zetian returned to his chamber and, seeing Feng Qiuji still asleep, removed his outer garments and lay down beside her.

The countryside at night lacked the bustle of the city, and after darkness fell, an intense silence reigned. Listening to Feng Qiuji’s gentle, steady breathing, Ling Zetian found his thoughts drifting.

Time had flown swiftly; unknowingly, she had already been in the palace for over two months.

She was his wife, yet this was the first time they had spent a night together, sharing the same room, lying on the same bed.

Since childhood, he had been accustomed to living alone in his grand, empty chamber—used to solitude, to coming and going as he pleased. Now, suddenly, having someone at his side felt unfamiliar.

The rain gradually lessened, the sound dwindling to a faint whisper. Outside the window, a dark shadow flickered past.

Ling Zetian had only been feigning sleep; instantly alert, he rose and dressed. This person had been trailing them all along.

He glanced back at the sleeping Feng Qiuji, took the sword from the table, opened the window, and gave chase.

The desolate countryside, washed by rain, was shrouded in a thick fog that curled around the dense forest.

The figure seemed intent on leading him deep into the woods outside town. She moved at a steady pace, neither hurried nor slow, and Ling Zetian matched her, always keeping the same distance. After about the time it takes to drink half a cup of tea, she finally stopped.

The heavy clouds parted slightly, letting a faint moonlight seep through and spill softly over the earth.

“You’ve returned.” Staring at that slender, all-too-familiar figure, Ling Zetian took a few steps forward. “Ruyan.”

By the pale light, he saw the woman dressed in a deep violet gown, her hair simply tied back with a ribbon. Fine rain fell steadily upon her, dampening her hair and shoulders. Standing amid the mist-wreathed trees, she seemed almost unreal.

The woman did not answer but turned to face him.

Ling Zetian started; she wore a silver mask that covered most of her face, glinting coldly in the dim moonlight.

She walked slowly toward him and stopped three steps away, then lifted her head to look at him.

“I knew you couldn’t be dead.” Even with a mask, Ling Zetian could never mistake those eyes.

“Why didn’t you kill her?” Her dark, beautiful eyes fixed on him. Her soft voice betrayed no emotion.

“Is living not torment enough for you? The dead cannot return.”

“And if I asked you to kill her?” she pressed.

Ling Zetian said nothing, simply meeting her gaze.

“It doesn’t matter. If you won’t, I will.” With that, she turned resolutely and vanished into the mist.

Ling Zetian lowered his head, tightened his grip on the sword, and turned in the opposite direction, leaving the forest behind as the fog thickened around him.

Qin Ruyan was no longer the woman he once knew. Time and again, they walked in opposite directions, growing ever further apart.

When Feng Qiuji awoke, she found herself lying in a bed, a single candle burning quietly in the room. Through the half-open window, she saw the darkness outside. Surveying the furnishings, she surmised it must be an inn.

But why was she alone?

Thinking back, she remembered being drugged by that little imp, Ling Shunuo. Judging by the situation, she must have slept for nearly a whole day. She couldn’t fathom where that child found so many peculiar potions. It would be wise to keep her distance from him in the future.

She sat up, preparing to get out of bed, when the door creaked open. She looked up to see Ling Zetian enter.

“Hi,” she greeted awkwardly, wanting to ask if they’d arrived at their destination. She didn’t know why they’d set out, where they were headed, or why Ling Zetian had brought her along.

Ling Zetian ignored her, crossing to the window and closing it.

“What time is it?”

“It’s already past midnight,” he replied coolly, then sat on the edge of the bed.

“Midnight?” Feng Qiuji began counting on her fingers, trying to recall what hour that was. Though she’d been here several months, she still wasn’t used to the ancient way of telling time and always had to calculate.

Meanwhile, Ling Zetian began undressing, removing his outer garments and trousers.

“What are you doing?” she asked, puzzled to see him stripped down to his underclothes.

“Sleeping.” He nudged her further onto the bed and lay down.

“Huh?” Feng Qiuji stared in disbelief. “Aren’t you going to eat? And why are you sleeping here?”

“I already ate. Do you object to my sleeping here?” Ling Zetian closed his eyes, pulled up the quilt, and ignored her.

She pouted, disgruntled. After sleeping so long, she hadn’t eaten and was starving. Why couldn’t he show some sympathy for her, the victim? “Don’t you need to sleep with Anuo?”

“No.” Ling Zetian’s reply was terse. He had planned for Anuo to sleep with him, but the boy refused, wanting to stay with Yu Fan. Ling Zetian had no choice but to let him.

Feng Qiuji lay back down. Though it was early summer, she shivered, feeling a chill. Listening closely, she heard the soft patter of rain outside, drumming on the roof and eaves.

“Is it raining?” she asked, staring at the ceiling. The room was shrouded in darkness and silence, save for the gentle rainfall, which made the night feel more real.

“Yes.” Ling Zetian’s response was barely audible.

She brushed against his clothes and felt dampness, as if they’d been soaked by rain. Surprised, she asked, “Did you just come in from outside?” The words left her mouth before she could stop herself, and she immediately regretted asking.

A few seconds passed, but there was no reply.

Feng Qiuji had only spoken to herself and hadn’t expected an answer.

Time drifted by. Having spent the whole day asleep, Feng Qiuji was wide awake despite the late hour. Ling Zetian lay utterly still; she couldn’t tell if he was asleep.

“Ling Zetian,” she murmured, eyes open. She disliked calling him “Your Majesty”—it felt too distant, too formal. “Is there someone you love?”

Silence. No one answered.

She smiled wryly and continued talking to herself. “Is Anuo’s mother the one you love? Then why didn’t you let her enter the palace…” Still silence. He must have fallen asleep, she thought, and closed her eyes, muttering as if in a dream, “To a child, nothing can replace a mother’s love… No matter your reasons or difficulties, you shouldn’t separate mother and child…” Though she found Anuo’s temperament disagreeable—so unlike other sweet children—she realized he was just a boy of four or five who had never known a mother’s warmth. Even if Ling Zetian was emperor and could give him everything, it could never replace a mother’s love.

“His mother is dead.” The words cut through the darkness, cold and emotionless, yet tinged with a hint of hatred.

Feng Qiuji froze, eyes wide as she turned to stare at Ling Zetian in disbelief. She immediately regretted her curiosity and raising the subject.

So she was already…dead?

Rumors claimed Ling Zetian was impotent or favored men, but the truth was, the woman he loved was gone.

A wave of sorrow washed over her. Even as emperor, possessing the world and absolute power, he could not reclaim the life of the woman he loved. Such is the human condition: in the end, we are all small and helpless. Whether emperor or commoner, rich or poor, life and death are the great equalizers.

Feng Qiuji turned and gently wrapped her arm around him in comfort. “Did you tell Anuo? He’s so little—he probably doesn’t understand what death means… At least he still has you…”

As she held him quietly and her words drifted brokenly through the dark, an indescribable feeling surged within Ling Zetian.

Feng Qiuji, said to be the prime minister’s most cherished daughter, had been in his mind since early on. He had resolved that when he ascended the throne, he would bring her into the palace—not out of love, but to imprison her, to hold her captive for life.

She was the prime minister’s daughter; naturally, Ling Zetian would not mistreat her, so he named her empress. He intended for her to endure the palace’s cold loneliness, but to his surprise, she angered him on their wedding night.

Ling Zetian sent her to the cold palace without hesitation, expecting tantrums and tears, but she seemed perfectly content.

Why was she able to speak such gentle, innocent words that warmed his heart? Did she truly not remember, or was she pretending? Did she not know that it was her father, Minister Feng, who had caused the deaths of Yan Wuying and Lady Yan?

Did she not realize how much he despised her father, or how close he had been to Yan Wuying? Did she not know that their marriage was not just a political alliance, but also a means of torment?

Yet she acted as though nothing had happened, even making him feel she was blameless.

But she was indeed innocent. Sometimes Ling Zetian realized the crimes were her father’s, not hers. Still, even if he didn’t hate her, he couldn’t bring himself to love her—so he kept her at arm’s length.

What Ling Zetian didn’t understand was that true torment wasn’t neglect. Feng Qiuji felt nothing for him now, so no matter what, she could amuse herself.

True torment would be making her fall hopelessly in love, then abandoning her utterly. The cruelest thing is not the cold itself, but to feel warmth and then lose it again.

We only understand the pain of loss after we have possessed.

After a while, Feng Qiuji drifted off to sleep again. Ling Zetian opened his eyes and turned his head. In the darkness, he could not see her face, but he could feel her breath close beside him.

She seemed to dream, snuggling closer and hugging his arm.

Ling Zetian did not pull away. After so many years, at last, someone lay beside him.

This feeling, he thought, was not so bad after all.