Chapter 35#

Feng Bing couldn’t understand—why did he have to stand in this bitter New Year’s Eve and listen to him spout all this nonsense?#

How ridiculous.

He had waited for Pei Dan at the Secretariat; he had waited for Pei Dan in the Imperial Prison; and when he’d been sent to Laozhou, five whole years passed without a word from Pei Dan. And now, what sudden pang of conscience had driven Pei Dan to come here and say all this?

“So you’re saying,” he mocked, “that divorcing me, casting me into prison, and exiling me to Laozhou—all of it was to protect me?”

“I—”

Pei Dan couldn’t answer.

Feng Bing realized his accusations were deeply unfair. It was the Divine Strategy Army who had dragged him to the Imperial Prison; it was the late emperor’s edict that had exiled him to Laozhou. But so long as the divorce was on the table, it was enough to give him the high ground—enough to lay all his suffering at Pei Dan’s feet.

Say something. Why won’t you argue back?

Feng Bing discovered he had plenty of venom in him too. If Pei Dan tried to defend himself, he could have torn him to pieces, and yet Pei Dan simply endured in silence. What right did he have to endure anything? Did he know the taste of the sour rice in the Imperial Prison? Had he ever gone hungry in the mountain workshops? He knew nothing.

He knew nothing.

Feng Bing could no longer look Pei Dan in the face. He clutched his chest, turned sideways, and retched violently. His hand instinctively reached out to grip the white stone wall beside him; he held on so tightly that the knuckles of all five fingers turned white with bloodless cold. Though this lifeless thing was frigid, it was solid and permanent—it wouldn’t leave him so easily.

The agony in his body swept over him before the pain in his heart could even surface. He refused Pei Dan’s hand when he reached out, stumbled a few steps forward, and nearly wanted to just walk away like this.

“—Fourth Brother!” Pei Dan cried out in desperation.

Feng Bing turned his head.

So many words were already surging and boiling in Pei Dan’s throat, as if they would melt his windpipe alive. Pei Dan knew he had no right to keep speaking—

He wanted to say he had tried countless avenues, that he had even considered going bare-backed to beg Li Fengchen for forgiveness, to ask him to let Feng Bing go. But the other party was the Crown Prince, gazed upon by all, with legions of factional allies. If he truly set himself against Feng Bing, Feng Bing would likely die without even a grave.

He wanted to say it was the discovery of the Crown Prince poisoning Feng Bing that had forced his final decision. He had taken his old memorials to the late emperor and spent two full hours arguing the principle that Shun did not kill Xiang, staking everything on the hope that the late emperor still retained some fatherly feeling toward Feng Bing.

His wager had paid off. The late emperor decided to depose the Crown Prince and assigned Pei Dan to handle matters covertly—the imperial family’s fathers, sons, and brothers could not slaughter one another, so Pei Dan became the most useful pawn.

He wanted to say the matter of deposing and installing an imperial heir carried mortal risks, and besides, the late emperor’s chosen successor was not Feng Bing. The divorce, the severing of all ties—it was meant to pull Feng Bing out of the maelstrom entirely, to keep him beyond its reach.

But neither he nor the late emperor had anticipated the Crown Prince’s sudden rebellion, erupting where least expected. Feng Bing had failed to slip away in time as the Third Prince had, and was instead seized by the Divine Strategy Army outside the Zichen Gate and thrown into the Imperial Prison.

…In the final analysis, he truly was not a successful man. He had risen to fame while still young, proud and lofty-minded. He had believed he could protect everything he cherished, that even if he lost something he could always get it back quickly—after all… after all, Fourth Brother loved him so dearly.

But at that thought, his face burned with shame.

He truly could do nothing, couldn’t he? He wasn’t even worth as much as Chun Shi. Chun Shi could step forward and act, while the best role left to him was nothing more than cleaning up the aftermath and draping a coat around Fourth Brother that he didn’t need. Yes—as matters stood, Fourth Brother truly no longer needed him. Why had he kept lying to himself?

The light in Pei Dan’s eyes went out.

He didn’t dare call out “Fourth Brother” again. all the intimacy and tenderness contained in that address had become taboo. He lowered his gaze. The howling wind and snow draped them both in a layer of cold white plumage, stiff and ill-fitting as it danced.

“I’m sorry,” he said slowly.

His heart was intricate and full of hidden turns, but if you truly dug it out and held it bleeding in your hands, it would come down to nothing more than these three simple words.

“—Crack!”

Feng Bing raised his hand and struck him across the face without hesitation. He put every ounce of strength into it, snowflakes still caught between his fingers. The blow snapped Pei Dan’s head to the side; a vivid red palm-print surfaced on his right cheek, then faded almost instantly into the color of suppressed endurance.

Feng Bing had actually been moved to tears by those three words.

Feng Bing couldn’t understand. No matter what Pei Dan said, or how he said it, he seemed unable to understand. Whether Pei Dan had harmed him or protected him—or even merely offered a brief embrace—understanding eluded him entirely. What he found most incomprehensible was: why had Pei Dan never told him? As if he were a porcelain doll that needed to be kept safe beneath a glass cloche. Snowflakes flew in wild disarray, brushing his hair and clothes into disarray; he clenched his jaw yet wept. Had they been standing here for a very long time? He felt as if he were about to become a statue covered in wounds. But it didn’t seem like very long, either. No one from the Hanyuan Hall came to urge them, and the vastness of heaven and earth seemed to press on— as if the whole world wouldn’t notice them, wouldn’t notice that Feng Bing had endured five years of adversity with equanimity, unmoved by any humiliation, and yet here, in this very moment, he had shed tears.

He hated him so much.

It was a hatred that had finally churned up from beneath the ice. By the time he became aware of it, it had already spread through every limb and every bone, making his hands tremble. He wanted to strike him, curse him, torment him. In an instant, countless petty and cruel thoughts sprang to life, growing wildly, filling every barren, lifeless gap in his heart.

He did not want this “I’m sorry.” Every pain he had suffered could never be repaid by three words. If anything, what he hated most was that Pei Dan still came to say sorry to him—still came to provoke him to tears.

He spun around abruptly and charged up the steps. He no longer wanted to face Pei Dan at all, and yet driven by that surge of hatred, he threw himself against the railing at the top of the stairs and looked down at the figure standing in the shadows below. The figure stirred, as if he, too, wanted to climb the steps.

“Pei Yunwang.” He called out this name—the name he had chosen with his own hands—coldly and with vicious force.

The figure raised his head, gazing up at him.

“I hate you,” Feng Bing said with a bitter laugh. “I’m telling you—I hate you! Is this what you’ve always wanted?”

Along with that laugh, tears came sliding down one after another, chilled by the wind and snow into something like small ice beads. Through the distance of the dark night, he thought Pei Dan certainly couldn’t see them—and that gave him the courage to weep.

“I hate your self-righteousness! I hate that you left me to die! I hate your arrogance! I hate your cold, stony heart!” He spoke faster and faster, as if someone were about to steal his breath away. “In the Imperial Prison, in Laozhou—there was not a single moment I didn’t hate you! I hope you lie on your high bed and soft pillow and have nightmares every single night, dreaming of demons coming to claim your life!”

He stared unblinkingly at Pei Dan, who stood speechless. The heavy snow was nearly burying the young man’s silhouette. His heaving chest slowly steadied. He changed his tone—something strange, dreamlike: “I hope you never find someone to love again. Because there will never be anyone who loves you more than the me I used to be.”

Tall towers, long staircases. Red walls, white snow. Silence as of the dead.

Though Feng Bing was still shedding tears, having finally spoken these words, he at last felt he had won. He clenched his jaw so tight his whole face strained, the flush draining from his cheeks into a cold white. With unsteady steps, he turned and walked away.

Leaving Pei Dan in the eternal shadows below the steps.

The most important part of the first half is finally over! Hang in there, Little Pei! Listen—he said he hates you! (Author on a death wish)