To onlookers, his journey had been remarkably smooth. He swept through the land from the mountains, and in less than a year, without a single defeat, he had destroyed the Guifang and ascended the throne. I, too, had only been by his side for less than a year. To say I was by his side would be a stretch. Yet, watching him travel from the north to another state, seemingly a swift and effortless advance, one wondered how many years he had been preparing. The wounds on his body—he wouldn't show me, and even he himself couldn't count them all.
How far did he go to gather the confidence to say the words "If I were to become emperor"?
I just shook my head.
Even if you become the Jade Emperor, I will not marry you. The more illustrious your status and the more outstanding your achievements, the less I can marry you. Not every time you claim auspicious omens descend from heaven, will the heavens grant your wish. I am not an auspicious omen, but merely a ghost. If you were a simple, ordinary person, you could hide me and take care of me. But if you are a high and mighty emperor, you have no power to shield me from the sunlight.
I am ultimately destined to never see the light of day.
His expression stiffened for a moment, but he managed to retain a smile, as if he had known the answer all along. He sighed softly, feeling helpless yet relieved.
“Alright.” He nodded. “I’ll be a monk emperor, cultivating my mind and body. That would be quite nice.”
I looked at him; his gaze drifted elsewhere, then stealthily returned after a short while. He was becoming increasingly unruly. Now that he was on the throne, did he think he could just jump around like that?
Did he not know how important the royal bloodline was? Yet he knew back then that the crown prince, as a direct descendant, could not be spared.
He noticed my displeasure and said, "I'm afraid that Mao Tui'er will start chattering and clamoring to send people into the palace again. He's such a troublemaker."
Yes, Mao Tui'er's personality does allow him to do such things. But seeing how hard he fought on the battlefield, it's not right not to reward him with a title.
"I'll have someone bring you to the palace and make you stand there. I guarantee all the young ladies and misses will feel ashamed of themselves."
His gaze held a smile, as if he were speaking of some future, and the light in his eyes was dazzling. However, I never make anyone feel ashamed; when they see me, they just scream and howl in fear.
"Liao Yan, I must have known you in my past life." He said such outrageous words with absolute certainty in his tone, "Otherwise, how could I have pulled you out of such a dark hole in this life, as if I knew all along?"
The dark hole was probably my "boudoir" in the Liao residence.
"How many people happen to stumble upon your door by sheer chance? Tell me." His lips were already brimming with a smile.
No, from childhood to adulthood, he was the only one who came here by chance, and he was the only one who acted like a fool when he saw me. His smile didn't seem like that of a ruler who commands the world.
"If you don't marry me, who will you marry?" He tilted his head and looked at me.
I ignored him.
He lowered his head and counted on his fingers like a child. He counted and counted, but there were only a few fingers left. After a while, he frowned, looked up at me, and said, "Could it be that you still miss Mr. Xu? He's the only one you're close to. He's so otherworldly, you probably can't be tainted by him."
He didn't know that when he first appeared at his father's funeral hall, he seemed more like an elusive deity. But now, that impression was completely gone.
I don't want to pay attention to his unreasonable behavior. Fu Xi is a dragon's son, and I am not worthy of his status.
He suddenly shrugged and coughed, and when he looked up, his eyes were bloodshot. He was a fool, but I wasn't. I reached out and touched his forehead; it was burning hot. He was still smiling with his eyes half-closed. I looked at him and pointed to the door.
He stood up, gently rubbed his nose, exhaled, and said, "We're going back to the capital tomorrow. Pack your things quickly." His tone was as indifferent as when he first came in, his voice flat and empty. Though the listener felt nothing, a pang of sadness lingered.
He lifted the curtain, and the setting sun cast its last rays. He turned to look, and saw a profile, a back view, and for a moment, a sense of loneliness and vicissitude.
Everyone loves a bearded gentleman, but he doesn't keep it, finding it troublesome. Just now, however, I noticed stubble on his lip. If he hadn't kept teasing me, I would have thought he looked old. It hasn't even been a year, how could he be old? I don't know.
Can war truly make a person profoundly affected?
Back then, in the mourning hall of the Liao family, was the shadow cast on his brow bone really that deep and heavy?
I sighed. What else could I do?
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