Na Qida looked at them all, then reached under his pillow and pulled out a silk scroll. Suddenly, he raised his voice and declared, “The seventh prince, Na Zhan, is a natural talent who has served the previous king well. Today, fate has decided. I bestow upon you the founding strategies of the kingdom as a reference. May you, upon ascending the throne, govern the nation and leave a legacy for the people!” With those words, the room erupted in chatter. Na Zhan himself was also surprised, but when his hands received the scroll, Na Qida smiled and passed away.
That was when Na Zhan thought to himself that his grandfather had just left him with a monumental mess.
Na Zhan was an orphan. From his earliest memories, he had roamed the snowy plains of the desert, with no clear recollection of his parents. The village he grew up in was chaotic. If a child lost their parents, they might be taken in by another family. Some were lucky enough to be adopted by wealthier households, living in comfort from then on. Others were less fortunate, passed around between families, experiencing separation and loss, or outright abandonment.
The people of the village didn’t resent those who abandoned others. To them, abandonment was merely the end of one person’s mercy and the beginning of another’s wandering. It wasn’t a crime. Everyone was drifting, and no one could save anyone else. What they truly hated were the aristocrats, wrapped in silk and living in luxury, completely oblivious to the plight of the poor.
When Na Zhan was young, he knew only to run whenever he saw someone from the upper class. If he didn’t run fast enough, he would be caught and beaten. He remembered a time when a child, refusing to accept such mistreatment, yelled at a young nobleman, “I’ve done nothing wrong! What gives you the right to hit me?” That child’s defiance resonated deeply with Na Zhan, but the nobleman’s reply was even more chilling: “I was born a nobleman. You, being poor, are like a dog beneath my feet. If you don’t like it, pray to the heavens that you’ll be born a noble in your next life.” After saying that, the nobleman had the child beaten until he was crippled. Na Zhan never forgot that incident, though he never spoke of it to anyone.
At eight years old, Na Zhan entered Guang Han Palace, ending his days of wandering. At nineteen, he became king, and his days as an outsider came to an end.
Becoming king meant stepping into the web of power, and he would never again find peace.
The grand coronation ceremony wasn’t as terrifying or joyous as one might imagine. Nineteen-year-old Na Zhan sat calmly on the throne in Guang Han Palace, receiving the crown from the court shaman Fa Tian, while the wise elders of Ningdu, the Rong brothers, drafted the edict and war proclamations for him. The day was glorious, yet inexplicably, Na Zhan’s thoughts drifted to the crippled child from his past.
He smiled wryly, a storm of emotion hidden behind his handsome face.
For fourteen years, Na Zhan reigned, expanding the kingdom and maintaining a prosperous harem. To him, women were for fleeting pleasure or forming alliances. His heart couldn’t be described as happy or unhappy—only satisfied or unsatisfied. For fourteen years, he had always answered: satisfied!
Until, at thirty-two, on a bright and sunny day, he met Huang Bei Shuang—a woman twelve years younger than him. She was beautiful, intelligent, observant, like a deep, calm pool. She neither competed nor envied, spoke little, and never overreacted. She was quiet, cold, and made him hesitate to approach.
Huang Bei Shuang loved to plant Zelkova trees. After entering the palace, this became her favorite activity.
The Zelkova tree, a rare desert species, had been described by a poet as follows:
“A tree of gentle blossoms, embracing the night of spring.
Yet spring nights are fleeting, and the general marches on.
Fate weaves three lives together, but they rush by in haste.
Tears of love plant the Zelkova, while the sword of indifference cuts through the tangle.
A tree of gentle blossoms, lingering beneath it, how fragrant the flowers...”
“One person—I don’t know whether I should look for him. And if I find him, I don’t know whether I should meet him.”
One night, while they were playing chess under the moon in Huaiyue Pavilion, she sat opposite him, frowning in concentration. Perhaps she hadn’t even heard his question.
Na Zhan chuckled, watching her make a move on the board. He then said, “Your strategy is narrow, only responding to my moves without any aggression. How can you win like that?”
She looked up, giving him a sweet smile. “Your Majesty’s mind is far more cunning than mine. As long as I don’t lose too badly, it’s fine if I don’t win.”
Hearing this, Na Zhan fell silent. On the chessboard, he advanced step by step, no longer holding back as he had earlier. Within the time it took to drink half a cup of tea, he had completely crushed her. A flash of frustration and anger passed across her brow, but Na Zhan smiled. For some reason, he suddenly felt moved. She was the only woman in his life he hadn’t touched, and the only one who never sought his affection. Why was she so indifferent?
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