Chapter 110 [VIP]
"Ziyan, have you sent Lingjie back yet?" Lu Xuejin asked.
Ziyan: "The person has already been sent back. This servant noticed that there's nothing in Lord Cui's courtyard. Now that winter is here, the charcoal stove is still empty. Should we send something over?"
“I’m entrusting this matter to you,” Lu Xuejin said. “Send him as much as he can use as possible…and check on him from time to time. I’ll trouble you to take care of things until Wei Ning returns.”
Ziyan: "Yes, this servant understands."
On her way back, Lu Xuejin saw the Ruiyun Palace, which had been carved and withered. Its white roots had fallen into the soil, and its flowers and leaves had withered.
Everyone was captivated by the flower's unparalleled beauty, and he thought of Cui Ruhao. Only a minority truly care about someone. Everyone was busy with their own affairs; had they even noticed that the flower had already withered?
As winter deepened and the cold intensified, Cui Ruhao, not one to be swayed by external things, recalled the smiling eyes he had seen at their parting. Lost in thought, he lit a candle on his desk and wrote a letter to Cui Ruhao himself.
Dear Sir/Madam:
On this festive day, I stroll through the garden, my heart stirred like a zither string, drawing upon kindred spirits. This festival evokes in me the longing for a noble and harmonious relationship, like that of Bo Ya and Zi Qi, inseparable friends. However, preoccupied with trivial matters, I often find myself unable to attend to everything, which troubles me. I hope you will write to me frequently this festival, sharing everything tolerable, intolerable, and commonplace. May you find joy in the lark's song, plucking the strings of your heart to let it resonate.
The words of the Song edict I wrote the other day resonated with me deeply in my youth. Matters concerning the future are often overlooked due to their remoteness. The surviving dynasties, and even the future of our descendants, are difficult to fathom in this world. The questions of the future transcend our time, existing beyond the cycle of reincarnation; we can only examine them by applying the theories of governance we have today.
The emergence of anything new inevitably leads to the demise of the old; this is the natural cycle of change. There is no need to worry about this during this festive season. If it results in destruction, it is a choice we willingly make in the future. If there is destruction, there is the choice to accept destruction; if there is collapse, there is the belief to accept collapse; if there is extinction, there is the will to willingly perish without compromise.
Whether it's the collapse of a dynasty, the demise of individual will, or the destruction of a collective, people a thousand years from now will have their own choices, which cannot be swayed by those of us who live in the 'old era' and whose time has already passed. Our thoughts, though buried for a thousand years, will be inherited by future generations. This question is ever-present and will never be extinguished.
—On the eve of the Lunar New Year, Changyou.
As the night passed, he watched the burning candle until the wax melted completely, and the dawn of the new year broke out on the horizon.
He sat by the window all night, watching the faint sunlight change its light in the morning, the halo of light shining through the paper window and piercing his shadow.
"Young Master... News has come from Physician Cui that His Majesty has awakened and is currently on Mount Buwen."
He waited a whole day and night for this good news.
Ziyan reported the news to him as usual. He stared at Ziyan's face, noticing the dramatic change in the young girl's appearance. Why hadn't he noticed before that Ziyan had never worn purple accessories? Yes... yes, although her name contained the character "Zi," it always made people assume that her appearance should reflect her name.
Life isn't like that, not as people imagine. In her memory, Ziyan had never worn a purple dress. The only time she did was when she was first brought home, and her parents gave her many purple clothes based on her name.
Not every name has meaning, not every trait has been considered in terms of people's wishes, and not every external quality can become an internal sense of belonging.
...It is not that people can actually achieve permanence just because they hope for it to last forever.
His pupils reflected the image of purple smoke, and he heard his own voice.
"...I understand. Prepare the carriage, I'll be there right away."
While in the carriage, he thought of the comic books His Highness often read. In those books, the illustrators always added various traits to the people they drew. In the fictional stories, those traits became incredibly vivid, making them stand out in a crowd—but that wasn't reality. In reality, people's traits are quite blurred, with no clear boundaries.
From a human perspective, remembering someone requires a significant investment of time and emotion. Therefore, to make someone remember you quickly, simply amplify traits that are often blurred in reality and add characteristics that people generally appreciate.
Everyone loves beautiful things, and thus we attribute beauty to us. It is difficult for anyone to discern a person's true nature from their outward appearance, so we strive to ensure consistency between them. Everyone considers kindness a virtue, and thus we encourage everyone to maintain their kind nature from beginning to end.
If he were a character created by an artist, he would genuinely want to ask a certain question: Will a person always maintain their original kind nature, and will they be endowed with the innate intelligence and thoughtfulness to understand the so-called 'constancy' of these talents through repeated deconstruction?
Beauty will always fade.
Positions can change.
Kindness can sometimes be contradictory.
All things that are constant will eventually perish after a long interrogation. All external qualities will dissipate within them, leaving only a vague, mottled gray shadow that originally belonged to man himself, existing between the boundary of reality and illusion.
The carriage slowly came to a stop at the foot of Mount Buwen. The mountain was covered with a layer of snow in winter, a place he often came to play in his youth. He opened an umbrella, and the cold wind rushed in, carrying the winter fragrance of the mountain forest.
The bright red cloak was dazzling, like a red crabapple blooming in the snow, surviving in the unpredictable bright sun, frail yet vigorous.
It was cold on the mountain, and everything was silent.
At the summit, Qiu Ji had erected a tent with felt. Doctors Jia and Gu, wrapped in snow-white sheepskin coats, stood nearby, their noses and faces red from the cold. The three doctors smiled when they saw him. Perhaps the warm tent attracted animals seeking shelter from the cold, for the young goats in the snow gathered nearby, watching them.
"...Is it over?" he asked.
"It's over, Lord Lu. It's all over... His Majesty has woken up, we did it."
Akikichi: "I have used external help to investigate many cases... When a person suffers a severe brain injury, particularly damage to the hypothalamus, they become like an infant who forgets everything. Just like the white lamb behind us... The wound is not deep; we only need to wait for it to heal."
Lu Xuejin lifted the tent flap and met a pair of deep, calm eyes.
Having spent the entire day on the mountain, Xue Yi's face was pale, and a scar had been carved into the back of his head with a small hammer. When he saw him, Xue Yi had been looking around, but as soon as Xue Yi entered, he stared at him, his expression calm and oblivious.
"...Brother?"
He felt as if he had returned to the first time he met Xue Yi. At that time, Xue Yi was lying on the small bed in the corner, and he had the same expression when he first saw him.
Everything will return to normal... His brother will return to his original position. Supported by him, he will marry and have children, becoming a virtuous and loyal monarch. All illnesses and troubles will disappear, and his brother will live a long and healthy life.
Thinking of this, he couldn't help but smile. He saw his own smile reflected in Xue Yi's eyes; his image overlapped with his younger self, and he smiled sincerely at Xue Yi, just like when they first met.
"...I've come to take you back."
The snow-white hue penetrates the long river of Jinwu.
He spotted the small boat.
The golden crow transformed into a bird-beaked boatman.
To propel a boat across the boundary between life and death.
He saw himself as a child.
He saw his elder brother.
A young boy sitting with his older brother.
Where are they going?
The small boat rocked and swayed.
The little boat rocked and swayed.
They are about to travel to the past.
They are about to return to their childhood.
Passing through all illness and suffering.
Go to that place of rebirth.
Go to the place where you can be young again.
They returned to Fangze Palace. Snow dripped from the eaves of Fangze Palace, and snowflakes drifted down from the sky. He led Xue Yi into the palace, but as soon as they stepped inside, vines blocked their way, and Xiao Qi waited outside, determined to see Xue Yi.
His eyes were fixed on Xue Yi's expression, the newborn infant... the child just brought to a new place, an innocent child oblivious to the world. Xue Yi wore that expression, though he remained calm, as if he were an outsider watching everything.
Xiao Qi barged in, and he saw her impatient expression but couldn't hear what she said.
His eyes were fixed on Xue Yi, gazing at the ordinary item he had personally created.
May my brother be given new life, a new soul, fresh air and a peaceful mind, no longer shrouded in grief, and may all the shadows of misfortune be dispelled.
“General Xiao, His Majesty is feeling a bit better today. I took him out for a stroll. Today is our day of reunion, and we will be heading to the Prime Minister's residence later. Is there anything you must say today?” he asked.
Seeing that Xue Yi had no reaction, Xiao Qi gritted her teeth and felt a little relieved. She replied, "Of course I care about His Majesty. He hasn't seen you for several days. If you did anything to His Majesty... no one else would know."
"Your Majesty... I will come again another day. Today is the New Year, and I am worried about you, so I came to bother you. I hope Your Majesty will forgive me. Only when I see that Your Majesty is well can I have a peaceful New Year."
After Xiao Qi left, Xue Yi kept staring at him without saying a word until now, when he came to his senses and turned to look at him again.
"...Am I the emperor?" Xue Yi asked him.
Lu Xuejin: "That's right. Brother was a foolish ruler before, and did many terrible things. Later, he was injured and forgot his past. Don't worry, I'm here, and I will help you remember everything. In the future, brother must become a wise ruler."
Xue Yi looked at the handsome young man before him, who seemed like a pearl descended to earth, his elegance shimmering like snow. He looked like a deity who had just emerged from the deep mountains, gazing at him with a gentle smile. Xue Yi subconsciously wanted to do as the other man said.
Fortunately, he is now an adult... and possesses some thinking ability. Judging from the warrior who claimed to be a general who appeared earlier, his injury was most likely caused by this man.
"...Am I really a foolish ruler?" he asked.
It must be the emperor; the moment he uttered the word "朕" (zhen, meaning "I" or "the emperor"), he felt an overwhelming sense of familiarity.
That's how it should be.
He is the emperor.
"By my standards... he was undoubtedly a tyrant."
“Today is the New Year… Your injuries haven’t healed yet, so how about we spend it at Fangze Palace? We should wait until you’re fully recovered before going out. We originally planned to go to the Prime Minister’s residence, but considering your injuries, it’s not the best choice,” Lu Xuejin said.
Xue Yi could only respond; he knew nothing, like a blank sheet of paper. He woke from his dream, his last memory being of being placed in a carriage and carried up the mountain by a group of guards. He remembered nothing else.
He knew he had gone up the mountain, knew he had woken up on the way. If this person wanted to hurt him, why didn't he come down then? What was he thinking?
He vaguely remembered that blurry feeling, a sense of emptiness, with only the endless snowscape filling his vision. Could someone's illness become a burden? He couldn't help but touch the scar on the back of his head, where he had been hit with a hammer and then stitched up.
He remembered the sound of the hammer shattering his scalp; the sound drilled into his ears. There was no physical pain, but his body felt hollow, as if it had been emptied out.
This body seemed to have long been accustomed to pain. He clearly remembered the blood slowly flowing from the wound after the anesthesia took effect, and the head wound melting in the snow, which hurt a little, but he didn't make a sound. It was like some kind of inertia; firstly, he was already an adult man, not a child, and secondly, he seemed unwilling to express himself.
It was as if many things were growing within him, things that had always been there, things that would always stop him whenever he spoke. If he said he was in pain, what would the young man do? Would he ignore his pain? Or would he call the doctor from the mountain to treat him?
He soon found out the answer.
At night, unable to sleep due to the pain in his scalp, he gazed at the unfamiliar coffered ceiling, all the questions lingering in his mind. He believed time would provide the answers. And so it was… In the pitch black, the sounds he made attracted the attention of a young man, who came over with a candlestick to check on his injury.
He saw the young man's furrowed brows in the candlelight, his deep brown eyes filled with worry. The young man quickly called the doctor over, no longer letting him use a pillow, but instead supporting his head to prevent the injury from coming into contact with objects.
Amidst the bustling crowds, he memorized all the faces, and his pain quickly subsided. The young man's hand cradled his head; because of his injury, he sensed that the other person seemed to care deeply. Even though this person had hurt him, he still cared about him.
He couldn't help but ponder whether such complex emotions truly existed in the world.
The sound of the wind piercing through the lambs' wool on the mountain appeared at night, and he remembered seeing the stars on the mountain, incredibly bright yet bewildering. He saw the eyes of the lambs, their horizontal pupils seemingly observing his fate, hammering through his head again and again, pushing his destiny to an unattainable absurdity.
A person awakens in an unknown place, loses consciousness upon reaching adulthood, and returns to the place where they once lived. For such a person, the past seems to have no meaning.
The answer remains unknown... He simply fell asleep in the young man's arms, gazing at the young man's profile, lost in a daze.
He heard something deep within his heart in the night, as if something heavy had collapsed. Like this magnificent palace, it had crumbled overnight... plunging into a deathly silence.
While in the carriage... while climbing the mountain... standing on the cold earth, I seemed to harbor some kind of longing? What exactly was that longing? What was it?
...He will never know that now.
A note from the author:
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