The next evening, at the Yunpei Palace, the cold wind howled around the stone gates.
Na Zhan had not summoned any concubines but instead called for General Wu Jihai to join him in his sleeping quarters. The two men shared cups of clear wine and played a game of chess.
Placing a piece on the board, Wu Jihai said, “Your Majesty, you’ve made a misstep today. I’m about to claim victory!” Wu Jihai, known for his straightforwardness, never held back when playing chess with the king. In fact, opportunities like today’s to win were exceedingly rare, and he glanced up at Na Zhan, curious. “What’s on your mind, Your Majesty?”
Na Zhan’s expression was distant. He took another sip of wine, and after a pause, he sighed with a smile. “Ah, indeed, I’m a step too late. What will the final outcome be?”
Sensing the deeper meaning behind the king’s words, Wu Jihai, who commanded the 170,000-strong national army, fell silent.
Outside, the towering mountains loomed in the distance. The faint silhouette of a pavilion’s pointed roof could be seen, and as the wind blew, the cold intensified. Wu Jihai stood to close the window.
Meanwhile, at the nearby Liangyue Pavilion, the thin silhouette of a figure played a jade flute, her hands freezing from the cold.
Huang Bei Shuang sat alone in the pavilion. Her eight guards and three maids stood watch dozens of yards away, leaving her in peace.
Her health had improved somewhat, and her face had regained its color. As she gazed at the bright moon, memories of that day resurfaced—the red wedding dress fluttering like a butterfly, those pitch-black eyes that had shaken her heart so deeply. Every time she thought of it, her heart raced uncontrollably, and the feeling of suppressed longing overwhelmed her. She chuckled softly at herself. How could she still be thinking of such things at a time like this?
What Huang Bei Shuang didn’t know was that Liangyue Pavilion was close to Guang Han Palace via a hidden path. And while she sat alone, leaning against a crimson wooden pillar and playing her flute in the moonlight, Qing Yun stood silently behind her, his eyes filled with a complex emotion as he watched her.
Cough!
Eventually, the chill from the jade flute became too much, and Huang Bei Shuang started coughing, cutting off the melody. Frustrated, she frowned and leaned back against the pillar, muttering to herself, “Ah, Qing Yun…” It was just a name, a single sigh.
Qing Yun, standing behind a short hedge, had been hesitating about whether to reveal himself. But hearing her call his name, a mischievous smile crept onto his lips. Quietly, he crept up behind her and whispered in her ear, “Were you calling for me?”
Startled, Huang Bei Shuang dropped her flute, but Qing Yun caught it before it hit the ground. Her heart raced, and she turned to see who it was, only to be pulled into a tight embrace and kissed deeply. His warm lips and tongue intertwined with hers, and as she recognized his face, she felt herself falling into a whirlwind of longing, like a dream she had often revisited in the quiet hours of the night.
It was only after a long while that Qing Yun finally released her.
Shocked, Huang Bei Shuang felt as though she were in a dream. She glanced around to confirm that they were indeed still in Guang Han Palace—the cold wind still blew, and the moon still shone brightly. She touched her swollen lips and, regaining her senses, whispered, “Oh heavens, what are you doing here?”
Qing Yun simply smiled, turned, and picked up a piece of pastry from the stone table, biting into it. “Mmm, not bad!” he said, dodging her question.
Huang Bei Shuang, far less composed than he, frantically looked around to ensure no one was watching. She then whispered urgently, “You’re not one of the people from Guang Han Palace. How did you get up here?”
“Oh?” Qing Yun wrapped an arm around her waist and let his hand linger on her cheek, his eyes brimming with interest. “How are you so sure I’m not one of them?”
His voice carried a certain seductive teasing.
“If you were from Guang Han Palace, you’d be someone of great renown. Na Zhan isn’t blind—he would have noticed you by now!” she said.
Her response clearly pleased him, and he pulled her closer, embracing her tightly. “Are you so sure about that?”
Huang Bei Shuang blushed. It seemed that all the longing and suppressed emotions she had felt over the past few days were rushing to the surface, and Qing Yun’s presence was unraveling her carefully maintained composure.
“You make my mind go blank,” she confessed, resting her head against his chest, breathing in the distinctive scent of wine that clung to him. “When I’m with you, I don’t feel like myself anymore. I can’t stay calm, and I can’t remain indifferent.”
Qing Yun was moved by her words and tightened his embrace, kissing her again. When she retreated, he pursued; when she tried to escape, he chased. No matter how Huang Bei Shuang tried to avoid him, it seemed she couldn’t leave his arms, and she could only surrender to his will. She closed her eyes and imagined the moon becoming even more hazy.
“Then… let me take you away!” Qing Yun’s voice whispered, teasingly distant and close at the same time as their lips intertwined.
As they held each other, time seemed to stop, and their embrace gradually became an eternal bond.
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