But at this moment, the way he twirled the jade hairpin carried a hint of nonchalant aloofness.
The jade hairpin spun rapidly between his fingers, the light it reflected so bright it hurt my eyes, like countless tiny needles were pricking them.
His tone when he spoke was like a knife chilled to the bone, piercing straight into my heart and shattering my last bit of expectation: "Yuanhe, what's the point of a woman reading so many books?"
The policy essay in my hand fell to the ground with a "thud," scattering the paper all over the floor like fluttering butterflies. Some of the papers were even covered in dirt, becoming filthy, just like my mood at that moment.
I stared at him blankly, almost thinking I had misheard. My ears were ringing, like countless bees were buzzing, and even the sound of the wind outside the corridor became indistinct.
He looked up at me, but his eyes no longer held the gentleness of the past; instead, they held a strange coldness, like a frozen lake, without a ripple or the light of yesteryear.
It was as if the night sky, once filled with stars, had been completely obscured by dark clouds: "She'll have to get married eventually."
Learning needlework, practicing household management, embroidering handkerchiefs, and managing accounts are the proper ways for a woman to live.
The power struggles and intrigues of the imperial court are men's business; they're bloody and treacherous. What if they get your hands dirty? It's not something you should get involved in.
I froze on the spot, my chest felt like it was blocked by something, I couldn't breathe, and I even forgot to shed tears.
In the past, when the Grand Tutor praised my insightful policy essays, he would always come over, snatch my manuscript, and pat my shoulder with a smile, so hard that I almost fell over.
"My sister's insights are much clearer than mine. She will definitely be a good helper to Father in the future, and she might even become my 'strategist'."
When the time comes, we will work together to assist our father, so that the people of Ning Dynasty can have enough to eat and warm clothes, and there will be no more war.
Let all children be able to study and play peacefully, just like we did when we were children.
But now, every word he says is pushing me into the confines of his mansion, as if he wants to forcefully push me away from his world and the edge of this court.
It's as if all those days we spent studying together and dreaming about the future were fake, just figments of my imagination.
Like a dream that vanishes as soon as you wake up, leaving no trace.
What alarmed me even more was his aura. That warm, gentle warmth seemed to have been completely devoured by something, leaving only an indescribable stagnation.
Like a bronze mirror covered with a thick layer of dust, it makes one's spine tighten, and even the surrounding air becomes stuffy, like the oppressive atmosphere before a rainstorm.
He stood under the eaves, his face still the same familiar one, his eyebrows, nose, and mouth just as before, even his voice hadn't changed.
Yet it felt completely unfamiliar to me, as if I were looking through a thick fog, unable to see or understand it at all.
It was as if the person standing in front of me was a stranger in the guise of my elder brother, a "Ning Yuancheng" I didn't know.
At that moment, I suddenly felt that the position of crown prince was poisoned.
He was clearly born of the same root and had been with me day and night for more than ten years. How could he have become so unfamiliar after just a few days of smelling the ink of official documents?
His eyes and brows were still the same as before, but the aloofness and coldness hidden in that gentle warmth were more piercing than the winter wind that swept across the palace walls, chilling my heart.
It felt like being thrown into an ice cellar; even my fingertips were cold and numb, and even my breath was chilled.
I even started to fear that the power in the palace could really change a person beyond recognition, alienating even the closest relatives and erasing even the truest feelings.
I started to instinctively avoid him.
We would arrive late for classes at the Imperial College, always waiting until he was seated in the window seat—the seat we used to sit together in.
The sunlight would fall perfectly on his book pages, and he would help me open the curtains a little wider.
He said, "My dear sister, reading is hard on your eyes. It needs to be bright, otherwise you'll become blind in the future. I won't want you as my 'strategist' anymore."
"If no one helps me come up with ideas, I'm going to cry," she said, making a deliberately aggrieved expression.
But now, I only dare to sneak in through the side door, find a corner furthest from him, bury myself in a pile of books, and pretend to be reading the Book of Songs.
In reality, my ears were constantly perked up, like a startled rabbit, afraid that he would suddenly approach, afraid that I would hear those words that chilled my heart again.
I was afraid that the unfamiliarity in his eyes would shatter my last bit of hope, and I was afraid that I would burst into tears, making him laugh at me and embarrassing myself.
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