That year, as winter approached, Huang Bei Shuang severed ties with King Jing of the North. Without hesitation, Na Zhan made her his queen, giving her the name Guan Ying. "Guan," meaning to capture or take control; "Ying," meaning true heart. Sadly, it was just a title in name…
“Consort Shuang loves the scent of water tree flowers!”
Na Zhan stood by the ornate, cold columns, holding a wooden xun (a traditional wind instrument). He had been in a good mood and wanted to play a duet with her. But instead, what he saw stunned him.
In the warm, mist-filled pool, she lay soaking, surrounded by chattering maids who were tossing handfuls of water tree flowers into the water. The air was heavy with their intoxicating fragrance. Her long, jet-black hair and delicate skin gleamed in the steam. For a moment, she smiled seductively as if lost in thought, sending waves of allure through the air.
Na Zhan put the xun aside, leaning against the wall, his eyes gleaming with amusement. Perhaps it was time to summon her to his bed.
She, unaware of the sensual spectacle she was creating in the water, lazily stretched out her arm and picked up a jade flute by the edge of the pool. She began to play. As her hair cascaded down her arm to her chest, Na Zhan’s eyes caught sight of a faint three-petal lotus flower.
Rage, uncontrollable and fierce, surged through him. That lotus was an insult to him!
In that instant, all thought vanished. He turned and stormed back to his chambers, ordering his servant, Zhu Jun, to deliver a sheer, transparent gown to her.
“Your Majesty, His Majesty summons you to his chambers,” Zhu Jun announced, holding the delicate garment with both hands, his head lowered as he waited at the door.
Fresh from her bath, Huang Bei Shuang was reclining against her bed, reading a book. Hearing the message, she was momentarily dazed.
“Your Majesty, His Majesty summons you to his chambers,” Zhu Jun repeated, noticing her distracted expression.
Huang Bei Shuang finally snapped back to reality and, with a wry smile, nodded. Her maid, Ye Pei, stepped forward and took the gauzy gown, as light as a cicada’s wings. Zhu Jun, relieved, bowed and left the room. “I’ll be waiting outside, Your Majesty.”
Huang Bei Shuang turned to Ye Pei, laughing quietly.
“Will Consort Shuang go?” Ye Pei asked.
“This formal of a summons? Not going would be a death sentence!” she replied.
“But, do you really need to wear this?” Ye Pei asked, her face flushing as she unfolded the ethereal gown. Transparent and delicate, it floated in the air like a wisp of smoke, enticing and mesmerizing.
Huang Bei Shuang reached out to touch the gown, her fingers brushing its softness as she murmured wistfully, “Wearing this, with light makeup, walking down the long corridor under the moonlight… Whose room will I enter? As a concubine, as a consort, I’ll be beautiful beneath him, no matter who he is.”
“Consort Shuang still has the heart to sing? Could it be that… you’ve come to terms with everything?” Ye Pei asked, watching her.
Huang Bei Shuang burst into laughter. “You silly girl, go fetch the ceremonial robe I’ll wear for tomorrow’s departure!”
Ye Pei exchanged a glance with Zai Ping, and together, they gently placed the transparent nightgown on the bed. A gust of wind from the window made it flutter, but no one paid attention to it.
Walking through the corridor, bathed in moonlight, Huang Bei Shuang wore a rich purple-red gown, the long golden-embroidered cloak dragging behind her, making a soft rustling sound. Zhu Jun walked ahead of her, silent, but his thoughts were a whirlwind. This was the second time he was leading Huang Bei Shuang to the Yunyu Hall. The last time had been with True Lady Youjia, and after that, nearly half a year passed without the emperor summoning Consort Shuang again.
Yet tonight, it was so sudden.
Na Zhan reclined by the bed, a yellow curtain of mist partially obscuring his face. It seemed he had bathed as well, as droplets of water still glistened on his chest. He didn’t look up at her, his attention solely on the wooden xun (a traditional flute) in his hands.
“Why aren’t you wearing the nightgown?” he asked, his voice laced with subtle anger.
“I’m leaving for Mizhan tomorrow. Perhaps it will be a one-way journey. I wanted to leave an impression on Your Majesty—perhaps the last one I’ll ever give you,” she replied.
Na Zhan’s eyes grew cold as he reached out and pulled back the bed curtain. She was half-kneeling beside him, radiant and graceful, her cold grey eyes playing out a game of chess, each step calculated.
“Step forward,” he commanded, throwing aside the blanket covering his legs. He sat up, his disheveled hair falling loosely behind him. His gaze was fixed on her, his face expressionless. She stood and took a step forward.
Na Zhan smirked slightly, waving his hand. “One more step.”
She took another step forward.
His eyes drifted down to her gown, embroidered with golden phoenixes and birds. In the moonlight, it shimmered seductively.
0 Comments