Secrets of the Palace

The stunning and aloof moon-white hue at the Imperial Garden Spring Appreciation Party, along with the unquestionable declaration of the young heir of the Anping Earl's Mansion, "Chen Niu," rippled through the aristocratic circles of the capital like pebbles thrown into a calm lake.

Back at the West Mountain Villa, the suppressed emptiness left by the departure of Ling Zhan and his mother was compounded by the weariness of court intrigue. He was somewhat absent-minded while teaching Shen Xing and Shen Chen how to row, his gaze always unconsciously drifting towards Qingzhou.

A few days later, Shen Yan was handling official business at the Xishan Villa. There was a gentle knock on the study door.

"father."

Little Bull pushed open the door and came in. He had changed back into the civilian clothes of a palace guard. He stood upright, his face bearing the slight dust of returning from his shift. He closed the door behind him, walked to the desk, lowered his voice, and said with an unusually serious expression: "Before I finished my shift today, Chief Steward Huang 'bumped into' me at the side gate and asked me to pass on a message to Father."

Shen Yan put down his pen, his peach-blossom eyes narrowing slightly as he instantly became alert. Chief Steward Huang was a figure like a shadow by the emperor's side.

He said, "Little Guard Shen, tell your father that under that crooked old plum tree in the plum grove behind the West Garden's warm pavilion, there's a jar of 'honey-preserved kumquats' that he was craving last winter. Tell him to dig it up and try it when he has time, so it doesn't spoil."

The little bull repeated it word for word. After he finished, he frowned slightly and asked, "Father, what is Steward Huang doing...? When did you ask him to bury the tangerines?"

Shen Yan understood immediately, smiled easily, and waved his hand: "Oh, yes, that's true. I mentioned it casually last year, I didn't expect Steward Huang to still remember. Alright, Father knows, I'll dig it up another day when I have time." His tone was casual, as if it were truly an unimportant old matter.

The little bull scratched his head, looking confused. "Dad, bury the tangerines under the tree? Won't that attract ants?"

Shen Yan chuckled: "Burying it under the tree was just a joke with your Uncle Huang. Okay, Dad knows, I'll dig it up another day."

It seemed like a trivial and amusing incident.

However, it was just past midnight.

A dark shadow, blending into the night, slipped out silently like a ghost from the West Mountain Villa, avoiding all possible eyes and ears, heading straight for the Western Garden of the Imperial City. Behind the warm pavilion in the Western Garden, a silent plum grove cast dappled shadows under the moonlight. That oddly shaped, crooked old plum tree was the emperor's favorite place to play when he was a child.

Shen Yan landed silently, his sharp gaze sweeping across the surroundings.

After confirming it was safe, he walked to the tree, but instead of actually digging up any tangerine jars, he tapped three times gently on a very hidden burl on the trunk in a specific rhythm.

A moment later, a seemingly ordinary, heavy artificial rock nearby silently slid open a gap, just wide enough for one person to pass through sideways, and a gust of wind carrying a strong medicinal smell and the dampness of a cellar rushed out. A faint, dim light shone through the gap.

Without hesitation, Shen Yan slipped inside. The artificial rockery behind him quickly closed in, fitting perfectly.

The passage was narrow and deep, allowing only one person to pass at a time.

At the end of the room was a small, secluded, and simply furnished warm room. There was no splendor or magnificence, only a hard couch, an old desk, a few chairs, and a palace lantern with its light dimmed to the lowest setting.

In the center of the warm pavilion, a young man dressed in plain white clothes stood with his back to the entrance, his hands clasped behind his back, gazing at a yellowed painting, "Snow Hunting in the Western Mountains," hanging on the wall. He was thin and frail, as if a gust of wind could blow him over; even his plain clothes seemed somewhat loose on him.

Hearing footsteps, the man slowly turned around.

It is the current emperor.

Under the dim light, the emperor's face was an almost transparent pale, with heavy dark circles under his eyes and bloodless lips. Having ascended the throne at a young age, the last bit of vigor he had seemed to have been worn away by illness and the heavy pressure of years in the deep palace, leaving only deep weariness and a lingering melancholy, weighing heavily on his brow.

He looked much more haggard and weak than Chen Yan had in public.

"You've arrived."

The emperor's voice was very soft, with a barely perceptible hoarseness, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time.

He did not use the title "朕" (Zhen, meaning "I" or "the Earl of Anping"), nor did he refer to himself as "安平伯" (Anping Bo, meaning "the Earl of Anping").

Shen Yan suppressed all outward emotions, knelt on one knee, and performed a simple yet solemn subject's salute: "Your Majesty is unwell and has summoned me late at night. Your subject, Shen Yan, obeys." A slight alarm bell rang in his heart; the emperor's secret meeting with him was anything but ordinary.

"Get up, there are no outsiders here."

The emperor gestured for Shen Yan to sit on the chair beside him. He himself slowly walked to the edge of the couch and sat down, his movements carrying a cautious weakness, as if his bones were brittle. A brief silence fell over the warm chamber, broken only by the occasional crackling of the lamp wick. The smell of medicine mingled with the earthy odor of the cellar, lingering in the air.

The emperor's gaze fell once again on the painting "Hunting in the Western Mountains," his eyes filled with a distant, indescribable loneliness.

“Desire”.

The emperor suddenly spoke, his voice ethereal, "Do you know that when I was young, I envied those children outside the palace who could run freely, catch fish, and climb trees?"

He didn't wait for Shen Yan's reply, and continued talking to himself, as if he were talking to the air, or as if he was looking for someone who could understand the loneliness of this deep palace.

"I... was born in this city. From the time I can remember, my mother... was gone."

The emperor's voice lowered, carrying a trace of unhealed sorrow. "The palace servants all say that the Empress Dowager died of illness, but I always feel... that the palace walls are too high, and the shadows too deep." He paused, as if trying to calm some emotion.

"Later, I ascended the throne, young and ignorant. General Huo... and Grand Secretary Jiang and the others were 'loyal' regents. They cared about my daily life; they arranged what books I read and who I met; even..."

The emperor's lips curled into an extremely bitter, almost self-mocking smile, his fingers unconsciously gripping the edge of the bed. "Whom should I marry as my empress, when should I take concubines, and who should I favor... all of these require 'weighing' and 'considering the overall situation'."

"I am like the most exquisite marionette, my every word and action is beyond my control."

He raised his eyes and looked at Shen Yan. His gaze was indescribably complex, filled with deep weariness, resentment, and suppressed anger, which ultimately turned into a thick, impenetrable gray.

"I...can't even decide with whom I can have children."

The emperor's voice was so soft it was almost inaudible, yet it struck Shen Yan like a hammer blow, instantly making her understand the hidden, cruelest truth within the deep palace—

"Sometimes I think," the emperor's gaze fell on Shen Yan's face, filled with an almost blatant, undisguised envy, "if only I could have been like you back then..."

Shen Yan was startled, but remained expressionless.

"Just like you!"

The emperor's voice carried a hint of longing, "Although you suffered great hardship in your childhood, wandering the streets and enduring countless sufferings... at least you experienced the wind outside the palace walls, the warmth of the streets and alleys, and... the taste of freedom. You didn't have to live under the scrutiny of countless eyes all the time, and you didn't have to think three times over every word in your mind."

"What I envy even more is," the emperor's gaze seemed to pierce through the gloom and look into the distance, "that you met her. Lady Ling."

Upon hearing this name, the faint longing in the emperor's eyes suddenly brightened. "She accompanied you through the most difficult years, standing shoulder to shoulder with you, not because you were the 'Earl of Anping,' but because you were 'Chenyan.' You... were of one mind, sharing joys and sorrows. She was so... different, like the mountain wind, sharp and free."

The emperor's voice lowered, carrying a deep sense of melancholy.

“I… have never had that. All I have around me are weighing options, interests, and… ubiquitous shackles.”

His gaze fell on the jade pendant belonging to Ling Zhan at Shen Yan's waist, lingered for a moment, and finally landed on Shen Yan's face, his envy almost overflowing.

"And your children."

"Little Stone is intelligent and insightful, Little Bull is sincere and brave, Shen Xingchen is lively and clever... They call you 'Dad' with genuine affection. They are not afraid of you, they dare to talk back to you, they dare to pester you, they dare to... protect you."

The emperor recalled the small figure in the imperial garden who had stubbornly shouted, "My name is Shen Niu!" and a warm, almost greedy glint appeared in his eyes. "I... am the Son of Heaven, yet even the simple joys of family life are a luxury for ordinary people."

"Disgusting!"

The emperor sighed softly, a sigh that contained an unspeakable heaviness.

"I... am truly envious of you."

This single word, "envy," carries a weight heavier than a thousand pounds. It is not a king's polite remark, but the deepest sigh from a soul imprisoned in the highest cage of fate, towards another soul who possesses everything he desires.

Shen listened in silence. The loneliness, repression, and sorrow in the emperor's words, like a cold tide, silently seeped into the small, warm pavilion. For the first time, he saw so clearly the withered and fragile nature of this young emperor beneath his magnificent dragon robes.

That "envy" was like a needle, piercing through the restlessness in Shen Yan's heart caused by the turmoil of the court. It reminded him of the coldness of when he was homeless, and even more so of the warm light that suddenly shone in his life after the appearance of Ling Zhan, Hu Zi, Xiao Shi Tou, and others.

He could neither offer comfort nor have the right to comment on matters of the imperial family. In the end, he simply lowered his head slightly, his voice low and clear: "Your Majesty... your body is of utmost importance, please take good care of yourself. Of all things in this world, I only wish that Your Majesty... finds peace of mind."

The emperor closed his eyes wearily and leaned back on the couch, as if his outpouring of emotions had exhausted his last remaining strength. He waved his hand, his voice barely audible: "Go... What you said today, you said, but I heard... Heaven and Earth know."

Shen Yan bowed again and silently retreated into the secret passage.

As Chen Yan's figure disappeared back into the night of Xishan, the imposing walls of the palace were left far behind. The heavy oppression in his chest caused by the emperor's situation in the warm pavilion did not dissipate. Instead, it transformed into an even more surging longing, like a flood that had burst its banks, instantly overwhelming all his restraint.

Instead of returning to his bedroom, he went straight to his study.

The night wind swept through the corridor, carrying the chill of early spring, but it could not dispel the burning passion in his heart.

He lit a candle, and in the dim yellow light, he spread out a plain sheet of paper.

He ground the ink, picked up the brush. The brush tip hovered for a moment, a thousand words welling up in his throat, but what finally fell was neither the intrigue of the court nor the emperor's secret words.

"Azhan Azuma:"

His pen paused, the ink slightly seeping in. Just writing that name seemed to warm his cold fingertips a little.

"The spring chill in the Western Hills is far greater than last year. The charcoal fire is still warm, but the courtyard is empty and desolate." The image of the green-canopied carriage driving away from the gate of the villa appeared before his eyes, and his heart tightened slightly.

"Little Bull has made great progress in his pole vaulting practice today. When he talked about his older brother and sister, he missed Qingzhou very much. Shen Xing and Shen Chen are doing well in their studies, but I am not good at paddling. I am afraid that I will mislead the children. I will wait for you to go home and give them some pointers." A very faint smile appeared on his lips, as if he could see Ling Zhan's cold and aloof eyes.

"The affairs in the capital... remain as complicated as ever, but none of them are worth mentioning. I only think of you and Yu'er. The mountains and roads are far apart, and I am always concerned about your well-being and food. Is everything going well in Qingzhou? The children's examination is imminent, and Yu'er is intelligent enough to be fine, but you should not overwork yourself." He paused again, gazing out the window at the deep night, as if trying to pierce through the thousands of miles.

"In the stillness of the night, I sit alone in my study. I recall the days in Kaoshan Village, when we sat around the stove in the snow, and you prepared simple yet heartwarming soup. Though it was coarse, it warmed my very soul. In those difficult times, I had someone to rely on. Now, living in a grand house, surrounded by fine clothes and delicacies, I feel... utterly alone."

The lonely figure and envious gaze in the deep palace resurfaced in his mind, causing him to tighten his grip on the pen. "Fortunately, I have the jade pendant left by you in the past, which is warm to the touch and comforts my heart." He subconsciously used his free left hand to touch the cool jade pendant at his waist, his fingertips gently stroking the familiar patterns on it.

"Looking forward to your early return."

These three words, powerful and penetrating, convey all the unspoken urgency and longing.

"I will take care of everything at home, so don't worry. Take good care of yourself."

The word "厌" (yàn)

The signature was a simple "dislike," yet it seemed to carry all its weight.

Before the ink was even dry, Shen Yan had already risen and opened the window. He took out a specially made bone whistle from his sleeve, placed it to his lips, and blew it silently. A moment later, a white shadow as swift as lightning swooped down from the night sky and landed steadily on the window frame. It was none other than the extraordinary snowbird "Lingyu".

It tilted its head, its icy blue eyes gleaming with a spiritual light in the darkness.

Shen Yan carefully rolled the written letter into a small tube, then sealed it tightly with special oiled paper and silk thread, tying it to a specially made, lightweight pouch on Ling Yu's foot. He gently stroked Ling Yu's smooth, cold feathers, whispering instructions as if entrusting something to an old friend.

"Lingyu, go to Qingzhou and find her. Hurry."

The snowbird rubbed against his fingers, letting out a barely audible cry. With a flap of its wings, it transformed into a streak of white light that tore through the night, instantly disappearing into the vast sky and speeding off towards Qingzhou in the south.

Chen Yan stood alone by the window, the night wind ruffling his loose hair and moon-white robes, remaining motionless for a long time.

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