Emperor Jingxi made thorough arrangements: Imperial Noble Consort claimed illness and stayed at the Nanqiongzi Retreat to recuperate, while the two children were temporarily entrusted to the care of the Empress Dowager and Consort Zhuang.
For the past few days, he had temporarily handed over state affairs to the Imperial Son to manage, while he himself remained at Nanqiongzi, dedicating his time wholly to accompany A wu—sharing meals with her, talking to her, and at night holding her close until she fell asleep.
This wholehearted companionship was especially intoxicating.
A wu had grown quiet, no longer resisting or crying, which gave Emperor Jingxi the illusion that the two of them could just live peacefully like this forever.
But separation was inevitable.
After completing all his arrangements, he had to leave.
That night, it was already late, but A wu still wouldn’t sleep.
She was playing with the rabbit Yehan had made for her—woven from twigs and grass, somewhat clumsy and simple, yet resembling a rabbit.
A wu was very fond of it.
After Yehan left, she clutched the rabbit unwilling to let go.
Emperor Jingxi sat in the shadow cast by candlelight, silently watching her as her fair fingertips gently touched the rabbit’s eyes.
She liked this rabbit.
The tenderness and hope reflected in her eyes were unlike anything he had ever seen before.
Not even when she gave birth to their children had she shown such gentleness.
At that moment, Emperor Jingxi suddenly thought of Lu Yunjian.
Lu Yunjian knew of Yehan’s existence, and because of Yehan, he hated A wu bitterly.
Then, A wu’s thick eyelashes fluttered, and she finally lifted her gaze toward Emperor Jingxi.
After entering summer, the nights had cooled again; the mountain breeze lightly brushed against the window frame.
Leaves from the phoenix trees fell softly, landing on the railing outside.
Their eyes met amidst the boundless silence, but soon, like an ant’s antennae, she quickly averted her gaze.
Emperor Jingxi looked at the rabbit in her arms.
“I once gave A wu a golden rabbit and a silver rabbit, yet I didn’t know she preferred grass-woven rabbits. It’s a pity I can’t weave.”
A wu bit her lip quietly, not responding.
Emperor Jingxi tilted his head slightly, staring at her.
“A wu, do you want to see Mo Yu and Mo Xi? To see them one last time, to hold them again?”
Still, A wu remained silent, staring out through the half-open window.
The crescent moon was about to set, and the night was deep.
Her profile was cold and resolute.
She didn’t even care for the children; there was nothing to hold her back.
Emperor Jingxi had known this from the start, but now he confirmed it once again.
He stared at her for a long moment before finally saying, “A wu, I have arranged everything. Tomorrow Yehan will take you away. I will leave.”
A wu still said nothing.
Emperor Jingxi stood, stepping away.
A wu’s gaze slowly fell on his retreating figure.
The man was tall and upright, wearing a dark blue robe—simple clothing.
His black hair was tied up plainly, looking familiar.
This man, who once controlled everything, now looked especially desolate from behind.
She had never seen him like this.
For a moment, she had felt pity, but that feeling was soon overtaken by more complicated emotions.
The heart is hidden deep within the body; she could neither understand nor see it clearly.
Emperor Jingxi reached the doorframe, his fingertips resting on the door, but he hesitated.
He lowered his eyes slightly, voice hoarse: “A wu, do you remember the night I left?”
At these words, A wu recalled.
Yes, that night the mountain wind was bleak; they had been entangled in passion.
Afterward, he stayed briefly before leaving, dressed in that same blue robe.
Suddenly, A wu felt a sharp blow to her chest, a mix of aching weakness and a flood of grievances pouring out like a dam breaking.
She clenched her fists, looking at Emperor Jingxi’s back.
“I remember.”
Emperor Jingxi’s figure stiffened slightly.
A wu stared at his back, speaking deliberately, “I also remember that day—you wore the same robe, tied your hair the same way. You held me gently, cherished me, made me feel like we were a married couple, loving and entwined for life.”
A fire burned fiercely in Emperor Jingxi’s heart, consuming him from within.
A wu continued, “Actually, I liked you then. I thought you were handsome, the way you lowered your head reading scriptures was beautiful. I imagined you holding the world in your hands when you wrote, yet embodying ethereal grace when you set the brush down. I even thought—if only you were ten years younger, born by the Eastern Sea—I would adore you deeply. I would find any way to marry you, bear you children, two daughters and two sons, sew your clothes, and stand foolishly by the sea at dusk, watching you return from fishing.”
Her voice was as delicate as silk but carried a faint chill, spreading in the autumn night.
Emperor Jingxi said, “But that night I knew nothing. I left, abandoning you.”
He left decisively, casting aside the lingering passion of that room.
Tears slipped down A wu’s cheeks, “Actually, when you left, I breathed a sigh of relief because I understood—if you had known my true identity, I would have surely died.”
Emperor Jingxi slowly turned to look at A wu.
Her soft black hair was spread over her fragile shoulders.
Her eyes were moist with tears as she gazed at him.
But he recalled that day when she hugged her knees on the couch, her face buried in her arms.
He even remembered how cold that night was, the quiet crackle of the silver charcoal, and how her black hair rested against the loose white silk trousers.
A wu lowered her head, murmuring, “I was right—Crown Princess bullied me, Lu Yunjian humiliated me, and you wanted to kill me…”
Emperor Jingxi stepped to the couch, pulling her into his arms.
A wu trembled, tears falling in large drops.
“You treat me badly, you want to kill me, I’m so scared, I don’t want to die. I want to go home…”
Emperor Jingxi kissed her tangled hair roughly.
“Yes, I have been bad to you. It’s my fault.”
A wu cried harder, pained beyond words, “I don’t want to be buried alive with you. If you want to die, die yourself! I don’t want to die!”
Mentioning this, she nearly broke down, crying loudly, “You kicked me out of the Imperial Son’s Mansion, you bullied me, you want to kill me. I hate you! I wish you were dead! How could I ever love you or willingly stay by your side!”
She truly hated him.
Old grievances poured out, pounding, tearing, biting his chest like a small furious beast rampaging in his embrace.
Emperor Jingxi wrapped her firmly with his strong arms and broad chest, letting her vent.
Finally, A wu cried herself exhausted, leaning weakly against his chest.
She murmured, “I won’t like you anymore. I don’t want to see the children, don’t want to be your Imperial Noble Consort. I want nothing. I want to go home. Far away…”
Emperor Jingxi understood.
He could not keep her.
Nothing could bind her—not gold, not jewels, nor power and glory.
He held her tightly, lowering his head to kiss her tear-streaked cheek.
“A wu, that day, the Empress Dowager said that even if I took the Crown Princess’s life, it would be useless. She said if the Imperial Son had improper thoughts, she would never tolerate you. In the back-and-forth, it was said that I was ordained by Heaven; as long as my reign lasted, I would protect you for life. Even if one day I was gone, I would rather take you with me than let you fall to such a fate.”
He sighed softly, “Though it was said in anger to counter the Empress Dowager’s words, I know in my heart it’s true—I have been so bad to you, so selfish and greedy, wishing you would stay by my side forever, absolutely unwilling to see you rekindle old feelings.”
Because it involved the Empress Dowager, he was unwilling to explain further.
Human hearts harbor darkness; how could he ever fully disclaim such unspoken thoughts?
At that moment, A wu tilted her face upward and bit his lips firmly.
Her tearful eyes stared stubbornly at him.
Emperor Jingxi looked down at her.
The mountain wind suddenly rose, the candle flickered.
He clearly and truly felt the hatred and finality burning in her eyes.
She would leave, would not soften or look back.
She bit him to make him remember her pain.
And he silently accepted the pain she gave him.
One biting, one aching—their breaths mingled, wordless and silent.
Time could pass in an instant or stretch out a lifetime.
Amidst the mingled saltiness and dampness, A wu’s heart soared over countless layers, and at last, she relaxed her jaw and released her bite.
Her lips, ravaged by her teeth, were shockingly wounded.
Yet Emperor Jingxi’s gaze burned fiercely as he panted lowly.
In that moment, desire and pain beat together in his heart.
A wu looked into the man’s deep eyes, expression bewildered.
In the distance, an animal’s call echoed, deep and far away.
In her ear was the man’s low, intoxicating breath—a familiar and fervent warmth.
She finally spoke, “That night, I fantasized about marrying you, tidying the house together at night, putting the children to sleep, and then being reckless together in the room all night long.”
Emperor Jingxi lowered his head, lightly licking the tears on her face.
“At that time, I also thought, if I were ten years younger, I would go mad for you.”
But it was all wrong—identity, age, everything was wrong.
The Red Thread of Fate was tangled, and their meeting was a mere cosmic mishap.
They no longer spoke; only soft breaths sounded in the moist, heavy night.
Then at a certain moment, as their eyes met again, both were ignited simultaneously.
They loved, naturally they did.
Tossing aside status and age, they craved each other, maddened to the bone—no emperor, no fisherwoman, no right or wrong, only the most primal entanglement between man and woman.
Everything was fierce and sudden.
The familiar desires, once deliberately suppressed, now surged forth like a flood.
Something uncontrollable raged within A wu’s body.
After a sudden rising, she tensed, then relaxed, completely engulfed by it.
Joy and hatred released at once.
She lay sorrowfully and contentedly in his arms, sobbing aloud.
***
The night was very deep now.
The candle burned out; only the octagonal palace lanterns under the eaves emitted faint light.
Emperor Jingxi retired to rest, slowly arranging his robes, silent and solemn.
Once everything was settled, he turned to look at the person on the bed.
She had cried and cursed, torn and bitten, venting all her grievances on him.
After pouring out everything, she fell asleep, exhausted.
Her pale cheeks still bore traces of tears, her black lashes crooked and collapsed.
He watched her silently for a long time but recalled what she had said that day.
She said she had devoured him.
From the moment she said that, he had already surrendered.
She had eaten his body and heart, but he was unwilling to bow his head—he struggled.
A worldly and powerful man was too proud to yield to a young woman.
Now, however, he bent his tall figure, lowered his head, and gently kissed her cheek.
“A wu, that night you wanted me to kiss you. I didn’t. I was wrong, but… I have never kissed anyone else. I won’t.”
He sighed softly, “Now, let Brother Yehan take you home, to see your family. They will cherish you, giving you what I cannot. A wu will be the baby cradled in their hands, the most beloved baby under heaven.”
After saying this, he carefully tucked in her blanket and stood to leave.
When he reached the doorframe again, he paused for a moment.
Sometimes certain actions, scenes, or moments felt strikingly familiar—melancholic and bewildering, as if today was merely a repetition of his past self.
After a long silence, he chuckled self-mockingly and pushed open the door to leave.