Chapter 46#

A Grudge Like a Tile Falling from the Roof#

Pei Dan opened his mouth, but before he could answer, Feng Bing cut in: “Don’t tell me it was to save the rabbit again. There’s an old scar on the back of your head — it’s split open, and you’ve been bleeding that much.”

Feng Bing stood in the hot spring. The water reached his chest — not so deep as to feel stifling, but the rising steam already quickened his breath.

“…It’s from five years ago,” Pei Dan replied, then added, “It’s nothing now.”

“The winter of five years ago, wasn’t it?” Feng Bing’s voice went cold. “You were gravely injured while besieging the Shao Ci estate, weren’t you? That’s why Second Brother acted decisively and seized the Shence Army. That’s why I couldn’t find you at the Secretariat, and when I went to Daming Palace, the Shence Army stopped me — you’d better have been unconscious for the entire winter, Pei Yunwang.”

In the silence just now, he had already been thinking at great length. Now the words poured out without any need for deliberation. His gaze was cold and hard, driven into Pei Dan like a wedge. His face was flushed, his chest rising and falling — but all of that only lent more life to those frigid eyes.

But Pei Dan sat turned sideways to him and noticed nothing.

“Not quite that long — about half a month, more or less. In a daze, drifting in and out of consciousness,” Pei Dan said with a bitter smile. “By the time I truly came to my senses, I heard you were already in the Imperial Prison. I deeply regretted it. If not for that grave injury, I—”

“You could have sent me to Lishan to take refuge?”

Pei Dan froze, then said slowly, “You know everything. Did the Prince of Zhao tell you?”

“I’m curious,” Feng Bing hadn’t wanted to be so sharp, but bit by bit, sarcasm crept into his voice. “If I had reached Lishan, what did you originally intend to do?”

“What did I intend to do?” Pei Dan actually paused to think. “You could have hidden in Lishan for the whole winter. Once the situation in Chang’an stabilized, the Prince of Zhao would bring you back to the Residence of Ten Princes.”

A breath caught in Feng Bing’s throat. The hot spring was too hot. He walked to the bank and picked up his clothes, his voice growing more urgent with each word: “I’m asking what you intended to do — didn’t you divorce me because you received a secret decree to depose the Crown Prince? If that’s true, then if everything had gone smoothly, once the winds died down and the waves calmed, would you have—”

He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Pei Dan looked up at him.

The clothes in Feng Bing’s hands had not yet been put on. His lean, slender figure, standing tall and lithe under the moonlight, looked like an ethereal immortal — impossibly distant. His long hair fell over his shoulders. Feng Bing’s eyes grew steadily calmer.

It was as though, before Pei Dan ever opened his mouth, Feng Bing no longer cared what his answer would be.

“At that time,” Pei Dan’s voice carried a faint tremor, “I could only think first of keeping you safe. But I couldn’t even manage that. I — we were together for three years, and I made you suffer the cold disdain of Prince You of the Khorchin tribe. After I divorced you, I still failed to bring you out in time—”

“Pei Yunwang,” Feng Bing laughed softly. “Do you think you’re the Bodhisattva who saves the suffering and delivers the afflicted?”

Pei Dan was clearly struck by the barb. He turned his face away in embarrassment.

A bodhisattva who saves the suffering would never end up as utterly defeated as Pei Dan.

Feng Bing draped the clothes over his shoulders, fastened the sash, smoothed his hair back, and walked over. He asked Pei Dan, “Does your head still hurt?”

Pei Dan shook his head. Rather, he could no longer tell whether it hurt or not.

Feng Bing said, “Then go take a bath.”

His tone was absolute, brooking no argument. Pei Dan paused, then obediently rose to his feet — only to find that his body had already stiffened from sitting so long, and he nearly stumbled. Feng Bing didn’t reach out to steady him, but simply watched coldly as he limped over, one halting step at a time.

Because the wound at the back of his head could not be exposed to water and it hindered his movements, Pei Dan bathed with unusual slowness. Feng Bing watched his silhouette again from the pavilion, remembering their wedding night — how he had once sat like this, watching him bathe.

That night’s earnest ardour had truly felt like a patchwork dream.

Pei Dan’s shoulders and back were far broader now than five years ago. His hair, pinned up, revealed at once that scar from a month past — stark against the moonlit, flowing sheen of his muscular shoulders.

Feng Bing looked up. Beyond the eaves, the night sky held a waning crescent moon hooked through a few threads of dark, misty cloud. A rustling wind swept across the treetops, and if one listened closely, one could still hear the distant murmur of human voices.

Which of the nobles camping in the Imperial Gardens tonight was not travelling in groups, fully equipped? And here they were — himself and Pei Dan, sickly and wounded, short of food, short of water, and short of sense. Serves them right for running into a tiger. But if he truly had to choose, perhaps this desolate, quiet deep of night was better than being lost among a clamouring crowd.

After bathing, his whole body felt refreshed, and drowsiness set in quickly. Beneath the railing, the small wild rabbit had already fallen asleep. Feng Bing drew closer and saw its nostrils quivering slightly, letting out little huffing snores, and he couldn’t help but smile. This rabbit must be very clever — it had kept remarkably calm even when the tiger came, and now, knowing they were trustworthy, it wanted to cling to them and stay. Listening quietly to the rabbit’s snoring, Feng Bing found himself yawning several times without realizing it; his eyelids were beginning to droop.

He thought he saw Pei Dan approaching, water dripping from every inch of him, and he frowned again, wanting to push him away.

He’s soaking wet — how can he get into bed?!

Pei Dan said, “…This is where the wind cuts through. Let’s go inside.”

Pei Dan’s head was still wrapped in Feng Bing’s garment. Feng Bing stared at him and found him so comical that he began to laugh. Pei Dan was bewildered and moved toward him, but Feng Bing suddenly seized him by the collar.

Pei Dan looked down.

Feng Bing’s eyes had already closed, yet his thoughts seemed to still be leaping about; he murmured something under his breath. Pei Dan leaned in to listen. He was saying: “I never thought of competing with Big Brother for the throne…”

“Yes, I know,” Pei Dan said softly. “You told me you didn’t want to be emperor.”

Feng Bing suddenly pressed his lips together, his face going stern.

But Pei Dan’s mind had also turned to that memory, and his expression grew a little flustered. Seeing that Feng Bing was already half-asleep, he bent down and lifted him into his arms, cradling him sideways. The wind was strong on the pavilion — they would need a sheltered corner to sleep properly.

Feng Bing did not resist, but neither did he seem to fully approve. He gripped Pei Dan’s collar, sniffed it, and his face darkened with deep displeasure. Pei Dan knew he must smell terrible, but he had no other clothes to change into, and he said, embarrassedly, “Don’t let it get on you—”

But Feng Bing cut him off: “I won’t be emperor.”

He had been soaking in the hot spring a long time; his complexion was faintly flushed, his brows low and drowsy, carrying a stubborn, melancholy weight.

“Alright,” Pei Dan murmured in agreement. “Then you won’t.”

“So what if he harms me?” But Feng Bing was still desperate to make himself understood. He spoke rapidly, yet his enunciation was blurred, and it took Pei Dan considerable effort to make out the words. “I don’t care… even if he harms me, haven’t you always protected me well every time? Pei Yunwang — you never told me about your parents’ blood feud. You never told me about the secret decree from the Emperor either. How dare you — you never once took me seriously…”

A single droplet of water fell onto Feng Bing’s cheek. In his drowsy haze, Feng Bing frowned faintly, but gripped the garment tighter still.

Holding him, Pei Dan stopped, sluggish, as though he himself didn’t understand what was happening. The mountain forest was empty and silent. Feng Bing was pressed against his chest — he could certainly hear his heartbeat. The one that had restarted, pounding now in panic and desolation.

“Fourth Brother,” Feng Bing murmured, and then laughed. “Fourth Brother…”

That must have been a deep night five or six years ago. On the bed in the Residence of Ten Princes, Feng Bing and Pei Dan had just made love with tender passion. Both were bare and slick with sweat. Pei Dan had kissed his ear and whispered into it: “Fourth Brother — do you want to be emperor?”

Feng Bing had thought this was some kind of outrageously treasonous little game. He turned over, resting his chin against Pei Dan’s chest, looked up at him and said, “If I become emperor, wouldn’t there be no heir?”

Pei Dan appeared to consider this for a moment, then suddenly grew aroused again, his eyes glinting: “Emperors have three palaces and six courts…”

Feng Bing grew impatient and bit him. Pei Dan grunted softly but still reached down to hook Feng Bing’s leg, slowly pushing in again. From unhurried, lazy turning it gradually became a rolling, driving rhythm — and the incense smoke and lamplight, the painted screen and the silk curtains, all swayed and shuddered once more.

Feng Bing breathed in small, fine gasps. He glanced sideways at Pei Dan, his body languidly winding around him like waterweed. He gazed at Pei Dan, and in the end he said: “Just like this — it’s already very good.”