The capital city remains a wealthy and prosperous place. As soon as the war ended, people eagerly moved back. The bloodshed in the city before I left has now been transformed into a vibrant and colorful landscape.
He was very popular with the people, probably because although the men in the mountains were rough and rugged, they were also simple and honest. The people, who had suffered from the exploitation of the Fuqi royal family and the oppression of the Guifang foreign enemies, were especially kind to him.
The Liao residence had fallen into disrepair, and he put on airs like an emperor, forbidding me from staying there. I worried, what if the maids and servants of the past returned? With a stroke of his pen, he bestowed titles upon meritorious officials, granted them residences, and instructed people to take care of all the former servants of the Liao residence and bring them into the new mansion.
The palace had been empty for a long time, and the glazed tiles were covered in dust. His arrival immediately brought it to life.
He insisted that I live in the palace, not too close to his residence, but not too far away, just like in a military camp. We were practically next to each other, yet I refused to bend down and step over his threshold. We lived in two houses where we could hear each other breathing, but we would only see each other once in a long while.
The night before his coronation, he came to see me. This was the first time we had met in the two months since we had settled down.
There was a strong smell of alcohol, but he didn't drink it. Looking at the broken wine pot in his hand, he chuckled and said that the threshold of Chongyuan Hall was high, and he tripped on it when he came out, spilling wine all over himself and breaking the wine pot, leaving only the handle in his hand.
He's such a fool; he managed to trip over his own threshold after leaving his own palace.
"I originally wanted to have a drink with you, but I've come to ask you for tea instead," he said with a smile, touching his chin.
I glanced at him, then got up to reach for the teapot on the table. He turned his head away in disgust: "It's cold."
Tomorrow he will officially take charge of the world, yet he still has this childish temper. I can't help it, but I still boiled water and brewed him some new tea.
He sniffed: "Liao Yan, you actually have such good skills!"
He seemed to really enjoy the aroma of the tea; Fu Xi had even said he wanted to come and drink my tea. It was as if this cup, which could be emptied in one gulp, was all there was to it.
He took a sip of tea, which was still scalding hot. Suddenly he said, "Today is the anniversary of General Liao's death."
My hand paused, and the teapot I was holding nearly shattered. He quickly reached out to steady me, and just in time, I was scalded.
Of course I know that today marks the third anniversary of my father's passing. I didn't have much contact with my parents, but he always brought up this day intentionally or unintentionally, always testing whether the imperial edict personally read by Prince Fuqi three years ago still held any effect on my heart.
The day he urged me to move into the palace, seeing the maids' forced expressions of fear, I knew that the imperial decree was already invalid. But I no longer wished to say it. He should have understood that further words were pointless.
I knelt down to bandage his burned hand, but he just kept stroking my cheek with his fingertips, seemingly oblivious to the pain.
"Liao Yan, do you know?" He paused halfway through his sentence, seemingly waiting for me. After a long while, I looked up and saw a mixture of bitterness and helplessness in his expression.
"I've never seen you smile. Not even a perfunctory one." His fingertips lingered on my cheek, as if there should have been a beautiful dimple there when I smiled.
I don't know what's so funny. Are you laughing at his stupidity? I've gotten used to it, so I don't find it funny anymore.
"It's been three years. Leaving aside our childhood, all you've ever said to me is two words." There was a hint of self-mockery in his voice.
I remember it was after he rescued me from the Ghost Fang and healed my wounds that I called out to him, Dong Li, when his composure and calmness collapsed.
Those two words were all I said to him over the past three years.
That closeness from childhood is now like a meaningless dream; occasionally recalling it only tears open the wounds pierced by reality.
Missing his fingertips is like missing that dream, that wound, woven too beautifully to touch.
He looked at my face, his gaze deep and unfathomable, like a bottomless lake, one I dared not venture into. I took his hand and carefully bandaged it, wrapping it layer upon layer. It was just a very minor burn, but it hurt a lot, I knew, just like the pain I felt when I was blinded by the intense sunlight.
"It's nothing serious, just bring some water," he said tentatively. I didn't reply, but simply tied a knot over the wound.
"Reluctant to part with it?" He slightly raised the corners of his lips, but the playful tone was gone.
I looked up at him. Reluctant to let go? Willing to let go? I didn't know; my heart remained as calm as ever. Perhaps, I was born this way, incapable of crying, incapable of laughing.
"If I get injured in the future, will you still bandage my wounds?" he asked earnestly, his eyes gleaming with a burning expectation.
I didn't nod; I just looked at the ground.
After today, he will be the emperor. Even if there is still a court in the south, even if there are still years of war, he will be the emperor. Who would want him to get hurt? If he is injured, how many people will rush to apply medicine and treat his wounds? I will not take them. Those people are the best for him, not someone like me who is neither human nor ghost.
His voice finally rang out above me after a long pause, deep, resolute, and leaving no room for argument: "I just want you to bandage my wounds. It was destined in our past lives."
In our past life, he always thought that there must have been some kind of fate between us, that we were bound together in the past life, and that it should be the same in this life. But someone like me, no matter how many lifetimes we were entangled in, would probably abandon and run away once he saw what I look like in this life.
My gaze unconsciously fell to the person in the dressing mirror. Even to me, the person looked wronged and resentful, exuding a fierce aura. I myself would not want to take a single step closer.
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