He began collecting the chess pieces, then said quietly, “Do you want to know more about King Jing Tian? If you do, let’s play another round. For as long as you hold on, I’ll tell you.”
Hearing the name that had echoed in her dreams countless times, Huang Bei Shuang’s heart skipped a beat. She hesitated, then gently placed three stones on the board.
“You didn’t know who he was, but you liked him. Why?” Na Zhan placed a stone on the board.
“There are people who can’t stir your heart no matter how long you’re around them. And then there are people who, with just one glance, take complete hold of you.” Huang Bei Shuang responded, making her move.
Na Zhan gazed thoughtfully at the board. “The last time I saw him was at the Four Nations Partition Council held in Zhun City, at the eastern desert stronghold. He was eighteen then—cold, aloof, just a young man. That was also the last time he personally attended any kings’ council. What caught everyone's attention was that he brought two queens with him.” He placed another stone.
Huang Bei Shuang’s hand trembled slightly as she made her next move.
“At fifteen, he married two extraordinarily beautiful queens. He didn’t take any concubines, yet many women volunteered to serve him without title or status,” Na Zhan placed his next stone on the board. “Jing Tian is that kind of man.”
Huang Bei Shuang steadied herself, feeling as though the lotus blossom tattooed on her arm was burning. After a moment, she forced herself to continue playing.
Na Zhan smiled. “That day, when we played chess, I lost even worse than you today.” He placed another stone, completely dismantling her already disordered strategy.
Huang Bei Shuang paused, then asked, “Were you angry after losing?”
Na Zhan looked at her. “I was. I threw the chess pieces right at his face,” he said with a light chuckle. He was twenty-six at the time, with five sons and two daughters. Having been skilled at chess since childhood, it was the first time he had ever been forced to concede mid-game, and it had been a complete and utter defeat.
Huang Bei Shuang was surprised. “What happened after that?”
Na Zhan slowly sipped his tea before answering, “Your turn.”
She placed her piece.
“After that, he slashed the chessboard in two with a sword. I haven’t seen him since. Most of the information I have about him comes from Mang Liu.” Na Zhan placed another piece on the board.
“Mang Liu?” Huang Bei Shuang searched the board in confusion before making a hurried move.
Na Zhan glanced at her chaotic placement. “Playing like that, you won’t last long,” he said as he set down a decisive move. “Mang Liu is an intelligence organization that trades in political secrets across nations. No one knows how they get their information, but it’s always accurate.”
“Are they connected to Tian Du?” Huang Bei Shuang asked, placing another erratic move.
“I’ve always suspected that Mang Liu is Tian Du’s shadow. Ever since Ruo Wen established Feng Tian and disrupted the desert’s balance of power, that suspicion has only grown stronger,” Na Zhan said, making another move. “You’re about to lose.”
Huang Bei Shuang, now completely disorganized, played a random move. “In the end, what do you want to tell me?”
Na Zhan smiled. “A man’s pride is something you should understand. Guang Han Palace will no longer be a place he can come and go freely.” He placed the final piece, sealing her defeat.
He was her husband, yet he had never heard her whispers at night, lying beside him.
She was his wife, yet she had never seen the scars on his chest.
He understood her thoughts; she knew his heart.
They were two petals blooming north and south,
Growing from the same flower, but tasting different drops of dew.
Guang Han Palace was vast and complex. Beyond the main halls and courtyards of the concubines, there were numerous secret passages and hidden chambers. One could only imagine how many untold secrets were locked away within these ancient royal walls. Those in power, always burdened by countless concerns, held on to their secrets, while those who sought to uncover them saw such places as an invitation, like a clear glass of wine left unattended on a table.
If Na Zhan worried about this glass of wine, then Jing Tian was the ghostly figure who drank it unseen.
In the year 332 AD, on the Day of Zi Jian, Na Zhan personally ordered the sealing of seventy-eight hidden passages in Guang Han Palace and added seventeen guard posts, vowing to let the palace's secrets fade away with time. For many nights, the palace echoed with the sounds of walls being sealed and tunnels filled, like a warning, locking down the palace and the restless hearts within.
By the time the jiemashu trees in the Guan Ying Palace courtyard had grown to knee height, Yunpei was sealed off.
No one could enter the city, and no one could leave the borders.
The wind was cold, stripping the trees of their leaves, but it couldn’t dry the freezing rain that clung to the trunks. That night, from Hu Keh heading north, a long caravan could be seen. Leading the convoy was Tian Du’s famous general, Ji Hua, his rugged face still wet with raindrops, but his eyes remained sharp, fixed on the path ahead, leading toward his distant homeland.
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