034
The Yu Dynasty palace in late autumn was shrouded in an invisible oppressive atmosphere. The news of the old king of Yan Dynasty being critically ill spread like wildfire, crossing mountains and rivers to reach the capital of Yu and also to Si Mianmian's ears. She was sketching a pine tree in front of her embroidery frame when the needle suddenly pierced her skin, and a bead of bright red blood instantly seeped into the white silk, spreading a glaring red stain.
She stared blankly at the red dot, a sudden tightness gripping her heart. Xuan Jing, it's time to leave.
Survival Handbook Rule #34: The best things in this world are not lasting; colorful clouds easily disperse, and glass is fragile. Only by deeply understanding the impermanence of gathering and parting can we cherish the present and face separation without fear.
The news was quickly confirmed. Three days later, an envoy from the Yan Dynasty arrived in the capital at breakneck speed, presenting a letter explaining that the king was critically ill and imploring Emperor Yu to allow the hostage, Xuan Jing, to return home to visit him. The reasons were plausible and the sentiment sincere. Even with a thousand considerations, Emperor Yu could not forcefully stop him in the face of filial piety. Moreover, the domestic situation in the Yan Dynasty was delicate; whether Xuan Jing's departure would bring fortune or misfortune was still unknown, and the Yu Dynasty was happy to observe the situation.
The imperial decree was issued, granting Xuanjing permission to depart for the country immediately.
On the day Xuan Jing entered the palace to bid farewell, the sky was overcast, with leaden clouds hanging low, as if rain or snow could fall at any moment. Inside the Zichen Palace, the charcoal fire burned warmly, but it could not dispel the invisible chill.
Upon hearing the news, Si Mianmian knew he would come to bid farewell to her father, so she waited early in the side hall of Zichen Palace, using the excuse of paying her respects to her father. She wore a light purple palace dress, her makeup was light, and her expression was calm. Only her hands, clasped together in front of her, her knuckles turned white from the slight pressure, betrayed the unease in her heart.
When Xuan Jing entered, he was still dressed in a moon-white robe, his demeanor elegant and his steps unhurried. He respectfully bowed to Emperor Yu on the throne, his voice calm and even: "Xuan Jing is deeply grateful for Your Majesty's care over the years. Now, hearing of my father's serious illness, I am extremely anxious and have come to bid farewell to Your Majesty. After returning to my country, Xuan Jing will certainly remember Your Majesty's teachings and forever cherish the hospitality of the Yu Dynasty."
Emperor Yu, standing high above, surveyed the young man beneath him with sharp, eagle-like eyes. Years of being a hostage had not diminished his spirit; rather, they had added a touch of restrained brilliance. "Please rise, Prince Xuanjing," the Emperor's voice was deep and resonant. "Your father is gravely ill, and my heart aches for you. Returning home to fulfill your filial duty is only natural, and I grant your request. I wish you a safe journey, and I also hope for the speedy recovery of the King of Yan."
"Thank you, Your Majesty." Xuan Jing bowed again, his demeanor impeccable.
Si Mianmian emerged from the side hall at the opportune moment, bowing gracefully: "Mianmian greets Father Emperor." After rising, she turned to Xuan Jing, her gaze meeting his calm and unwavering eyes, and her heart felt as if something had gently struck it. She tried her best to maintain a proper smile, and said softly, "I heard that Brother Jing is returning to his country, so Mianmian came to see him off. May Brother Jing have a safe journey, and may His Majesty the King of Yanchao soon recover his health."
She still addressed him affectionately as "Brother Jing," but her tone carried a polite and distant air befitting his status, as if she were simply saying goodbye to an ordinary foreign brother.
Xuan Jing gave her a deep look, his gaze swift yet seemingly carrying a thousand unspoken words, which ultimately culminated in a simple, understated "Thank you for your kind words, Ninth Princess."
There were no superfluous words, no overstepping gestures. Under Emperor Yu's scrutinizing gaze, all emotions and undercurrents were perfectly concealed beneath a polite farewell. The friendship between gentlemen, as pure as water, felt heavier at this moment than any intense emotion.
Survival Handbook Postscript: The most dignified farewells are often the most understated. Hiding turbulent emotions beneath a calm surface is the best protection for each other.
Xuan Jing left the Zichen Palace and walked along the long palace road towards the outside of the palace. Si Mianmian bid farewell to her father, taking the excuse of returning to Zhuixia Pavilion, and took Qiu He along another route. However, she slowed down on the only way to the palace gate.
She knew this might be the last time they saw each other. Not as a princess and a hostage, but as Si Mianmian and Xuan Jing.
Sure enough, at a quiet, deserted corner of a palace alley, she "bumped into" Xuan Jing, who was walking alone. Autumn winds swirled fallen leaves between them.
Si Mianmian stopped, and Xuan Jing stopped as well. There was no one around, only the mournful sound of the wind blowing through the palace walls.
The two gazed at each other silently, neither speaking first. Time seemed to freeze at that moment. Si Mianmian looked at his thin face, recalling the chess game in the imperial study, the flute music under the plum grove, the plain note he had handed her, and the countless small acts of kindness that, though seemingly indifferent, concealed deep care. A wave of emotion welled up in her eyes, and she quickly lowered them, concealing the tears that threatened to spill over.
Xuan Jing's gaze lingered on her face for a moment, then swept over her slightly trembling fingertips before he finally spoke softly, his voice a few decibels lower than usual: "Princess... take care."
Si Mianmian raised her head, forcing herself to smile, though the smile was so forced it was heartbreaking: "Jing-gege too. The journey ahead is long and arduous, take care." She paused, as if using all her strength, before adding, "I hope...we'll meet again someday."
"Someday or tomorrow." These four words sound so pale at this moment, yet they carry endless anticipation and uncertainty.
Xuan Jing's Adam's apple bobbed almost imperceptibly. He suddenly took out a slender object wrapped in ordinary blue cloth from his sleeve and handed it to her: "This... is for the princess. In your spare time... it may help you pass the time."
Si Mianmian took it; it was slightly cool to the touch, with a wooden texture. She didn't open it immediately, but held it tightly in her hand, as if holding onto a trace of his lingering warmth. "Thank you, Brother Jing."
Xuan Jing nodded, giving her one last deep look, as if trying to etch her image into his heart. Then, without further hesitation, he turned and strode away, his moon-white figure resolutely disappearing at the end of the palace alley, never to look back.
Qiuhe whispered from the side, "Princess, it's getting windy, let's go back."
Si Mianmian stood there, motionless for a long time, until the figure was completely out of sight. Only then did she slowly loosen her tightly clenched hand, revealing a mutton-fat jade pendant carved with daylily patterns—a gift he had sent on her coming-of-age ceremony, which she had always worn close to her body. In her nervousness just now, she had even pinched it with her fingernails, leaving several shallow marks.
She clutched the jade pendant tightly in her hand, her fingertips icy cold.
A reminder from the survival manual: True farewells often don't involve lengthy explanations. A glance, a keepsake, a simple "take care" can speak louder than a thousand words. The important thing is that both parties understand the unspoken connection and affection.
The news of Xuan Jing's departure was like a gust of wind, rippling the deep waters of the harem, but quickly returning to calm. After all, the fate of a hostage was insignificant to most people.
Only at Zhuixia Pavilion did something seem different.
Si Mianmian's life continued as usual. She went to the Empress Dowager's palace to fulfill her filial duties, talked with Consort Wen, consulted with her elder brother, the Crown Prince, and even occasionally "bumped into" the Heir Apparent, Rong Jingyu, listening to his playful banter. She remained the obedient and sensible Princess Zhaochen, who occasionally revealed a touch of girlish charm.
But only she knows that there is an empty space in her heart.
Inside the Wenhua Hall, the desk next to hers lay empty. When the Grand Tutor taught, she would occasionally glance unconsciously at her side; only the cold table and chair remained, the figure with his focused gaze or the knowing look in her eyes was gone. The chessboard seemed to still carry the crisp scent of his movements. The archery training ground where he once instructed her was now empty except for her drawing her bow alone; the sound of the arrow piercing the air was exceptionally desolate.
She opened the blue cloth bundle he had left behind. Inside was a chess manual he had handwritten, and a smooth, polished bamboo flute with a natural woody scent. On the title page of the chess manual, there was only one line of slender, strong, and elegant handwriting: "Years will pass since we part. Take good care of yourself."
Unsigned and undated, yet it tells the whole story.
Si Mianmian carefully put away the chess manual and the bamboo flute, placing them beside her pillow. In the stillness of the night, she would take out the bamboo flute and put it to her lips, but she never played it. She would simply stroke the cool body of the flute, as if she could feel the warmth left by its owner, recalling those brief but clear memories of the past.
Survival Handbook Final Remarks: Some people are destined to be passersby in our lives, yet they will leave the deepest marks on our hearts. Rather than wallowing in sorrow, let the memories become strength, urging ourselves to become better people, in anticipation of a possible reunion in the future.
Rong Jingyu seemed to sense her unusual behavior and tried to probe her several times, but Si Mianmian skillfully deflected his attempts. Crown Prince Si Jingjin had also seemingly casually mentioned, "Xuanjing's journey is fraught with internal strife in the Yan Dynasty; he will likely face a near-certain death." Si Mianmian merely raised her eyes, her gaze utterly calm: "Brother is right. Matters of state are not for Mianmian to presume to discuss. Mianmian only wishes for peace and prosperity for the people." Her words were perfectly composed, revealing no trace of her true emotions.
She carefully sealed away that budding emotion, which she had to keep hidden deep within her heart, like a seed planted in winter, quietly awaiting the unknown spring flood.
Xuan Jing's departure was like a watershed moment. Si Mianmian clearly realized how luxurious dependence and naivety were in this deep palace. She had to grow up faster and possess greater power in order to control her own destiny, instead of passively accepting everything that was arranged for her.
Outside the window, the first snowflake quietly drifted down. This winter seems exceptionally cold and exceptionally long.
But Si Mianmian knew she couldn't stop. Her father's favor, the empress dowager's protection, her brother's care, and even the prince's vague interest were all variables; only her own strength was the constant.
Xuan Jing returned to his battlefield, while Si Mianmian's battlefield remained the same.
Growth often begins with a heart-wrenching farewell. This separation brought a brief pause to her seemingly glamorous life in the palace, and also opened a new chapter—a chapter for Princess Zhaochen, Si Mianmian, as she journeyed alone.
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