Na Zhan picked up a sweet pastry and took a couple of bites before responding: “You are a woman with ambition, and your ambition includes a sense of responsibility and compassion for your people. You are fit to be queen,” he said, taking another bite. “Moreover, the desert is about to be engulfed in smoke and war, and both powers involved are linked to you. Do you think you can avoid it?”
Few knew Huang Bei Shuang better than Na Zhan, a king who understood deeply the feeling of ruling and sacrificing for the people, much like her.
“Do you love me?” Huang Bei Shuang asked.
“No, I don’t. You’re not my woman,” Na Zhan replied, his voice resolute.
“And you won’t touch me?” she asked again.
“I won’t, unless you make the first move,” he smiled.
She fell silent.
“Well?”
“Well.”
There was no warmth, but a mutual understanding that only close confidants share. Could a proposal be this simple? Perhaps it was because there was no love involved. Love makes people irrational. Huang Bei Shuang smiled faintly at Na Zhan. In his presence, her mind had never gone blank.
I’m awake. So many days passed without seeing you, so I woke up, because in dreams, you weren’t there.
I’m drunk. So many nights passed without seeing you, so I became intoxicated, because beside me, you weren’t there.
Cold wine touches my lips, I know your pain still lingers,
So, even thinking of you is something I no longer dare…
Huang Bei Shuang, from the Ernaqi tribe, known as Na Xiu, entered Yunpei in a marriage alliance in the autumn of 331 AD. Upon seeing her for the first time, King Zhan admired her beauty and immediately granted her the title of Lady Shuang. Less than four months later, impressed by her wisdom, he officially named her queen and gave her the title of Guan Ying. On the day of her coronation in the deep winter of 331, he decreed amnesty across three provinces. Seven days later, to win her heart, he brought 7,000 Ernaqi people across the border, giving them land and homes, earning the queen’s smile.
The grand coronation ceremony marked Huang Bei Shuang’s official entry onto the stage of the desert’s history.
“Give me a long sleeve, and I will dance gracefully.”
If a person hurts another and then feels the need to hurt themselves for peace, it shows a deep emotional dependency between them. To maintain this dependency, people may do things even they don’t understand—like Huang Bei Shuang now.
“Are you sure about this, Lady Shuang?” Ye Pei asked worriedly. “If someone sees this, won’t it make you a laughingstock?”
Huang Bei Shuang smiled faintly, her voice carrying a hint of loneliness: “Then let them laugh!”
“Shall I really do it?” Ye Pei asked nervously.
“Do it.”
“I’m going to do it!” Ye Pei dipped a brush into a small box on the table, soaking it in a thick, dark red liquid that looked strangely ominous. She hesitated before gently placing the brush on Huang Bei Shuang’s delicate arm, finally painting a three-petaled lotus.
“It’s done. How does it feel?” Ye Pei asked.
Huang Bei Shuang gently pulled down her sleeve and replied lightly, “Silly girl, it’s not poison. What do you think it feels like?”
Ye Pei sighed with relief, “I can’t believe something like this exists! It’s amazing!”
Huang Bei Shuang explained, “Except for the Mi Zan tribe, in the chaotic desert, women often have multiple husbands, and even brothers share wives. Chastity isn’t highly valued, so no one bothers with something like virginity powder.”
“The emperor might be upset if he finds out,” Ye Pei said anxiously. “A queen should be a virgin, and it would be a huge scandal if someone found out.”
“I’ll be careful not to let anyone know. Don’t worry. Besides, not everyone even knows about virginity powder.” Huang Bei Shuang chuckled, turning to look out the window at the jiemashu trees that had grown taller. By spring, they would surely bloom with white flowers.
Was there something she wanted to prove by applying the virginity powder? She didn’t know. All she felt was an indescribable sense of falsehood and greed. She had never hated herself more.
“Zei Ping, bring me my flute,” Huang Bei Shuang said, walking toward the window, deep in thought.
“Playing the flute can harm your health. Please rest tonight,” Zei Ping suggested.
Huang Bei Shuang sighed, “I can’t calm down.”
“Why can’t you calm down?”
Unbeknownst to her, Na Zhan had already entered the room, holding a chessboard in his hands. “If you can’t sleep, how about a game of chess?” he asked, setting the board on the table.
Huang Bei Shuang hesitated, “Your Majesty, I’m not good at chess!” Since becoming queen, they had begun addressing each other as “you” and “I.”
Na Zhan smiled, “Don’t be too competitive! It’s just for fun. I’ll give you a three-piece advantage,” he said, setting up the game.
Reluctantly, Huang Bei Shuang sat down and placed her first piece. “A three-piece advantage isn’t as easy as you think, Your Majesty!”
With that, both of them focused on the game in silence.
The room was quiet for two hours.
“How’s it going?” Na Zhan asked.
“I concede defeat!” Huang Bei Shuang admitted reluctantly, her loss was devastating, unlike anything she had experienced before. “Your Majesty's chess skills are unparalleled. I suppose you've never lost a game, have you?”
Na Zhan laughed. “I have, once. I lost to a boy eight years younger than me when we played on equal footing.”
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