The Hall of Mental Cultivation is located northeast of the Palace of Compassion and Tranquility. With Linglong leading the way, Yan Ning didn't need to look at the palace map given to her by Heshen.
Yan Ning explained her purpose to the eunuch waiting in front of the glass door of the Hall of Mental Cultivation. The eunuch told Yan Ning to wait a moment and then went in to report to his master, Wu Shulai.
Wu Shulai, who was over fifty years old, personally came out to greet Yan Ning and entered. With brisk steps, he knelt outside the Sanxi Hall and loudly reported to the Emperor: "Your Majesty, Miss Yan Ning from Cining Palace has brought a meal."
An old man's voice came from inside the hall, "Come in!" Wu Shulai stepped aside to let Yan Ning in. Yan Ning gave a slight bow to Wu Shulai, who was nowhere near fifty years old. She sighed inwardly, thinking that they were all people who had received the Emperor's dragon aura, and one by one they had escaped the calamities of old age.
Carrying a food box, Yan Ning walked into the small and exquisite Sanxi Hall, where calligraphy and paintings of different styles were hung.
A young eunuch beside him was carrying a piece of green, translucent white sandalwood on his head. He walked quickly, but his legs trembled slightly. An old eunuch beside the incense burner glared at him sternly and said in a low, shrill voice, "This time you'll be punished with a beating. If you make the same mistake again, watch out for your little head!"
Yan Ning saw the young eunuch's hands trembling as he placed the green incense stick into the golden censer. She guessed he must have put in the wrong incense and, after being punished with a beating, was now being scolded by his master. Although those who served the emperor stood more upright than others in the palace, a mistake meant a beating, and if the emperor was in a bad mood, they could even lose their heads.
The emperor stood before a wall with an especially strong scholarly atmosphere, his back slightly hunched. He was carefully examining Wang Xizhi's "Letter After Snowfall".
Seemingly knowing that Yan Ning was behind him, the Emperor spoke softly, "When Kang'er was in the palace, he loved Wang Xizhi's calligraphy the most. When I got this calligraphy, he was so happy that he dragged me to look at it all night."
The Sanxi Hall was shrouded in darkness, its light obscured by heavy curtains, devoid of any summer's vibrancy. Yan Ning, dressed in a mint-green palace gown, stood out starkly against this somber hue. The Emperor's slightly hunched back, reflected in Yan Ning's eyes, resembled a solitary figure trudging through withered grass in a vast desert.
Yan Ning didn't know how to speak, so she just watched the emperor's back, letting the fear in her heart for this emperor on earth gradually decrease, leaving only pity for an old man over sixty.
A moment later, the hall was filled with a rich fragrance, pleasant yet not pungent or unpleasant. The Emperor turned slightly, and upon seeing Yan Ning, his tightly furrowed brows relaxed considerably. He beckoned to Yan Ning, gesturing for her to help him sit down.
Yan Ning immediately stepped forward and helped the Emperor walk toward the table. At that moment, she felt that the Emperor was an old grandfather who was neglected at home by his children and grandchildren.
Those in high positions often feel a chill in their hearts, just like the old man walking slowly at this moment. Beneath the old man's imposing presence lies loneliness, the loneliness of an emperor that is difficult for others to comprehend.
The Emperor looked at Yan Ning, who was bowing her head and setting out the porridge, a smile that lingered on her face, causing Yan Ning's hands to tremble uncontrollably. Her previous disrespect towards him vanished, and the image of Consort Xun's youthful face flashed through Yan Ning's memory. She thought to herself that if the Emperor had any interest in her, she would end her life immediately.
Seeing Yan Ning's panic and unease, the Emperor laughed heartily three times, "Haha, haha, haha!" "Could it be that in your eyes I am such a debauched and tyrannical ruler?"
The cigarette smoke, as if tinged with water vapor, lingered around Yan Ning, refusing to leave. Yan Ning's thoughts were written on her face, but she was unaware of them, only staring blankly at the Emperor.
Seeing Yan Ning's stunned expression, he continued, "Although all land under heaven belongs to the king, and all the women on this land should also belong to me, I will not steal the love of others, let alone my own..."
The Emperor stopped talking, took the candied chestnut soup from Yan Ning's hand, and said nothing more. Yan Ning took a few crystal-clear rock sugar pieces from a blue-and-white porcelain dish decorated with lotus flowers, and placed them into the jade bowl in the Emperor's hand with a jade spoon the size of a beautiful woman's fingernail.
The jade spoon gently touched the jade bowl, making a "tinkling" sound. After stirring, Yan Ning stood aside on the table, head bowed, not daring to speculate on Jun Wei's power. This old man, who held the power of life and death over the world, made her feel both pity and awe.
The soft sound of the porridge going down her throat filled the air, and Yan Ning's neck, already aching from drooping, finally heard the sound of the jade bowl hitting the table. She quickly presented the handkerchief, which was almost damp with sweat, to the person in front of her.
"Heaven is high and earth is low, thus the universe is established. The high and the low are arranged, the noble and the lowly are positioned. This means that the positions of ruler and subject are as immutable as heaven and earth." A sigh drifted over, and Yan Ning looked up and saw that half of the Emperor's braid had turned white. Under the candlelight held by the palace maids, the silver light reflected back, but the Emperor's domineering aura was gone.
With only a vague understanding, Yan Ning forced herself to memorize the two sentences. Back at Cining Palace, the Empress Dowager had already retired for the night. Yan Ning carefully examined the items she had received that day. Fukang'an's two lines of regular script were vigorous and powerful, the characters rounded and full. In her vague recollection, Fukang'an had always written in regular script; Yan Ning had never seen him write in running script.
Wang Xizhi is renowned as the "Number One Running Script in the World," and a question arose in Yan Ning's mind: if Fukang'an liked Wang Xizhi's calligraphy, why did he prefer regular script? The question flashed by, but judging from the Emperor's obsession with Wang Xizhi's calligraphy today, he probably shared the same preference as Fukang'an.
After severing his ties with the Emperor, Fukang'an abandoned everything he had once cherished. Thinking of the similar, lofty spirit in their brows, Fukang'an must have deeply revered the Emperor in his childhood, and thus took pride in following him.
As soon as Fukang'an entered the palace, his expressionless face appeared before Yan Ning's eyes. People in the palace are the best at saying one thing and meaning another, and Yan Ning could not guess what Fukang'an was thinking about the emperor.
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