The three of them, with a combined age of less than forty, faced constant danger and schemes from all sides. Supported by opposing factions, Shui Lan and Liao Ye were like fire and water in the palace. Within four months, Liao Ye, who was pregnant, was poisoned, resulting in the death of the child. The culprit was found to be Shui Lan. Such a tragedy was not new in Ice Thorn Palace; it had long been a familiar play, with the real actors being the scheming aristocrats and ministers vying for power.
In response, the King of Beijing deposed the Northern Palace Queen, Shui Lan, to quell the anger of the military faction, and he took the opportunity to strip the Chancellor’s faction of power, consolidating control with the help of General Liao Zhen. At fifteen, he felt no pity for the two young women who had once shared his bed, even though they had been powerless in the situation.
As Miao Jing reached this point in the story, Huang Bei Shuang, sitting in the pavilion, lifted her head to the sky and sighed sadly. Miao Jing, hearing the sound, paused. “Your Ladyship?”
Huang Bei Shuang’s gaze was distant, almost resembling that of the now-mad Shui Lan. “Why was His Majesty so kind to a woman who made such a grave mistake?”
Miao Jing froze, not answering for a long time.
Huang Bei Shuang gave a bitter smile. “In the face of politics, no one is truly righteous! His Majesty must have known that Shui Lan was controlled by the Chancellor’s faction and intended to harm Liao Ye, yet he chose to feign ignorance! Once he finally seized the opportunity to deal with that treacherous faction, Shui Lan became completely isolated. She must have loved His Majesty, loved a man so outstanding, but she never realized that all he saw when he looked at her was her scheming father.”
Miao Jing was shocked by these words and hurriedly knelt beside her. “Your Ladyship, you and His Majesty are the same. In the face of politics, you both have your own hearts. Neither good nor evil!”
Huang Bei Shuang leaned over to look at the kneeling Miao Jing. “Now she’s fallen ill with longing, her youth wasted in madness. Does His Majesty only pity her now because they once shared a marriage bed?”
Miao Jing raised his head, realizing how close her face was, her seductive expression as cold as winter snow. Her crimson lips curved in a mysterious smile, one that seemed both mocking and accepting. Miao Jing, lost in the sight, quickly lowered his head, realizing he had overstepped. “Your Ladyship, His Majesty specifically asked me to bring you here. He wanted you to know all of this.”
Huang Bei Shuang smiled, stood up, and adjusted her fur cloak. “I understand. That’s enough for now. Let’s go back.”
Miao Jing stood up, following her closely as they walked back. As they walked, he marveled at how similar she was to His Majesty. The complex layout of Ice Thorn Palace, with its maze of roads and paths, had only been shown to her once, yet she could now walk without missing a step.
Huang Bei Shuang walked ahead in silence for a while, unaware of Miao Jing’s deep thoughts behind her. It wasn’t until they were near Qing Yun’s bedchamber that she suddenly turned to Miao Jing and smiled. “Do you know why neither Shui Lan nor Liao Ye had a good outcome? It’s because they lost their direction. They were forced to choose between His Majesty and their factions. Choosing both, or neither, is what doomed them. Thank you for telling me all of this today. From now on, no matter what I choose, I won’t regret it.”
Miao Jing stood at the door, speechless, watching as she turned and entered the palace. He couldn’t find the words to say.
Choosing something always means losing something. It’s always equal. If you feel it’s unequal, it’s because you’re greedy.
In a lifetime, a person must have at least one thing they stick to, something they persist with until the end. That’s what makes others believe in and admire them. What Qing Yun persisted in was the dignity of a king. And what did she persist in? The survival of the 7,000 Ernaqi people already rooted in Yunpei? The victory foretold by King Zhan’s battle? Or this whirlwind romance that was as intense as it was fleeting? No matter how difficult the choice, she wouldn’t avoid it!
When she opened the door, Qing Yun was already awake, sitting at the table, reading. Seeing her return, he merely smiled faintly. Huang Bei Shuang stood by the door for a long time, watching him deeply.
“Standing so far away! Can you see clearly?” Qing Yun put down the book and looked at her expressionlessly. “Or are you starting to fear seeing things clearly?” His tone was cold, tense.
Huang Bei Shuang slowly removed her fur cloak and walked step by step to stand in front of Qing Yun, her face just as expressionless. “What about you? Have you seen me clearly?”
Qing Yun looked up at her. The coolness still lingered between her brows, and her grey, clear eyes carried a hint of arrogance. She always captivated him, yet he could never fully understand her. Thinking this, Qing Yun stood, his closeness making her appear especially petite.
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