TAXIAN-JUN TURNED. Song Qiutong was dressed in all her gorgeous finery, approaching with a retinue of servants. Instead of pushing the bamboo curtain up to enter, he surreptitiously clasped it closed. "What is it?" he asked.
"This one was idle, and so I came out for a post-dinner stroll." Song Qiutong bowed, then looked sweetly at the carriage. "Is A-Ran heading out?"
"I'm off to Wuchang Town to see the night markets."
She beamed, her smile delicately poised between intimacy and deference. "Taking a carriage for such a short trip? You're not going alone, are you?"
At the time, Taxian-jun had still been indulgent of his empress, so he smiled and answered, "No, not alone."
Song Qiutong cast a fluid glance toward the rosewood stool still waiting at the door of the carriage. She had a woman's careful mind, and soon had her answer. Her face froze minutely, her smile becoming stiff. "Ah. Could it be you're going with Consort Chu-meimei?"
Taxian-jun could almost see the face Chu Wanning was making behind the curtain at being addressed thus. Resisting the urge to laugh, Taxian-jun replied, "Mn. That's right."
Her smile brightened, so dazzling it seemed to dim the colors of the sunset. "How marvelous! This one has been in the palace three years, yet I've only seen my little sister Consort Chu on the day of her wedding, and veiled even then. How lucky we've run into each other like this today." She smiled. "A-Ran, won't you introduce us sisters properly?"
Taxian-jun shook his head. "Consort Chu is naturally reserved, dislikes strangers, and is mute to boot. Better not."
Song Qiutong obeyed Mo Ran's every word—but how could it not grate on her? She'd developed a bitter grudge against this Consort Chu since suffering the humiliation of being abandoned on her own wedding night. Afterward, she'd overheard endless palace gossip about how the emperor had remained sequestered in Consort Chu's rooms until nearly dusk the next day.
"He was at it all night—you wouldn't believe the sounds I heard."
"I heard from the guards on night watch—they got to at least seven or eight counting on their fingers. His Majesty has incredible stamina."
One handmaiden giggled. "Isn't Consort Chu the one with the stamina? Seven or eight rounds in one night—heavens, she'll bear us a little prince soon enough."
But what stung Song Qiutong most of all were whispers like "Her Majesty the empress is so beautiful. To think she couldn't hold his favor on her own wedding night," or "It's completely unheard of. His Majesty doesn't show his empress any respect at all." That veiled Imperial Consort Chu may as well have slapped her soundly across the face, and the burn of it had only grown worse over the past three years.
In time, even her most trusted handmaiden became filled with resentment. "What kind of vixen is that woman?" she'd been known to hiss. "The little minx has got His Majesty wrapped around her finger." Then she'd turn to Song Qiutong and say, "My lady, you mustn't take it to heart. His Majesty spends so many of his nights there, yet we've heard no word of an heir. She must be too weak to bear children. His Majesty is merely having his fun with her; he'll grow bored soon enough."
Song Qiutong had forced a smile. Even to her most trusted confidant, there were some things she couldn't voice without shame. Over the few nights they'd shared, the emperor had always been careful to keep her from getting pregnant. The one time he'd spent himself inside her had only happened recently, when he'd run over to her rooms after getting into a huge drunken argument with Consort Chu.
She'd been sound asleep when the drapes around her bed were torn aside. Song Qiutong had woken to see those scarlet eyes devoid of rationality. He'd turned her over and ripped away her undergarments before she could react, ravaging her in a brutal show of force. In the midst of that frenzied torment, a hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back, and a voice rasped in her ear, "Who were you writing to in secret? Do you care for him so much?"
As she let her body go limp, lost in the sensations, she abruptly heard him murmur as he pressed against her back, "You'll never see anyone…go anywhere… You'll only ever be this venerable one's Consort Chu…whether you like it or not…"
She blinked the humiliating memories away and composed herself, smiling prettily. "Your Majesty might not care for etiquette, but we're sisters, after all. I'd like to see her and bring her a few humble gifts."
Taxian-jun's hand was tight on the bamboo curtain. "No need. Consort Chu has all that's required."
Song Qiutong had played every card she had. She said a few more gentle words to him, then watched as he stepped into the carriage and left with that irksome vixen.
Behind the bamboo curtain, Taxian-jun settled himself on the plush cushions, his stomach aching from holding in laughter. "As emperor," he said in complete seriousness, "perhaps it is not appropriate to dote on you so."
Scowling, Chu Wanning turned to look out the window in silence.
The burnt gold sunshine poured in through the curtain and painted thin stripes of shadow across his cheeks, pale almost to the point of translucency. Taxian-jun watched him for a while, then leaned in close and put his head in Chu Wanning's lap.
Chu Wanning stiffened. "Isn't it too hot for this?" he asked without glancing down.
"Beloved concubine, your tone is chilly enough; it keeps me quite cool."
At last Chu Wanning looked down at him, his gaze even more freezing than his voice. He was truly enraged. No man would willingly become another's concubine, and Song Qiutong calling him Consort Chu-meimei was an insult he couldn't swallow. Humiliation had reddened the tails of his eyes.
When Taxian-jun had made him his consort, he'd done so specifically to make him feel lower than a woman. Song Qiutong was the true wife, while he, the Beidou Immortal, was secondary, a concubine to a younger man.
"Are you angry?"
Chu Wanning chose not to dignify this question with a response.
"It's not as if this venerable one let her see you. What are you so upset about?"
Taxian-jun had thought to keep teasing him. But when the setting sun slipped through the bamboo slats and fell upon Chu Wanning's face, it revealed eyes so coolly distant Taxian-jun pursed his lips and fell silent. It was all so boring, somehow.
Neither of them spoke for the rest of the ride.
When they arrived at Wuchang Town, he purchased all sorts of things: sugar paintings, flower cakes, tanghulu, lanterns, whatever caught his eye. His shopping soon filled the carriage, but Chu Wanning only stared past the bamboo curtain at the bustle outside and ignored the piles at his feet.
It seemed nothing he did could make Chu Wanning happy. Taxian-jun couldn't help feeling frustrated.
"Forget it. We won't go back tonight," he said, out of nowhere. "We'll stay here."
He ordered the carriage driver to find them an inn, into which he and Chu Wanning—wearing a veiled hat—walked in together.
The attendant, who had been nodding off, woke with a jolt, transforming his yawn into a plastered-on smile. "Looking for a room?"
"One of your best."
Even with his face hidden from view by the veil, it was clear from Chu Wanning's physique that he was a man. The attendant stared in open curiosity.
"…Two rooms," said Chu Wanning.
Taxian-jun's fury finally snapped its tether. "What are we to each other?! Two rooms? Is there a point in trying to hide anything?"
If the attendant had merely been suspicious before, his doubts had now been put to rest. His expression of shock pleased Taxian-jun to no end. Once the room was ready, he gleefully dragged Chu Wanning up by the arm and kissed him hard before even closing the door properly, his tongue probing urgently.
Beyond the carved grapevines of the latticed window were the lights of so many family homes, but that light had nothing to do with them. He shoved Chu Wanning down on the bed. Alongside the suggestive creak of the frame, he heard Chu Wanning's soft question: "Mo Ran, what's the point of all this?"
Taxian-jun had no answer.
"What's the point of us."
These words were too cutting. Even now, the memory made his heart twist.
Taxian-jun opened his eyes. He stood in the empty Red Lotus Pavilion, and those events were far in the past.
An illusion seemed to flash before his eyes. The sound of torrential rainfall echoed in his ears; he felt like a ghost in the night, peering in through that carved window. He saw the same room and the same people. The only difference was the storm outside, and the love he could feel in the bed.
He saw himself and Chu Wanning tangled in the sheets. It was dark in the room, but he was sure of what he saw in Chu Wanning's face: veiled desire, his eyes half-lidded. Limbs entwined with his own, ashamed and yet passionate. In the vision, he stared adoringly down at the man beneath him. "Tonight," he said, half imploring and half firm. "I just want to make you feel good."
He bent to kiss and suck at Chu Wanning's cock, and heard the gasps he'd hoped for. Chu Wanning's fingers sank into his hair.
"Ah…"
Taxian-jun brought a hand to his forehead; it ached fit to split. The memories of two lifetimes overlapped and clashed, ripping into each other in an attempt to take control. Which was real? Which was a dream? He didn't know, and he was too afraid to find out.
He collected himself only with difficulty, then tore out of the Red Lotus Pavilion. When he arrived at the Dancing Sword Platform, he stopped and stood by the white jade railings. He stared into the distance, breathing hard. What were those amorous memories?
Were they from the other world's Mo Ran…?
He couldn't help thinking of Chu Wanning's soft and misty gaze, the way he'd moaned on the bed with his head thrown back. Taxian-jun's fingers tightened on the railing.
Had Chu Wanning willingly gone to bed with that thrice-damned Mo-zongshi?!
They were inarguably the same person, yet Taxian-jun's fury blazed higher and hotter, dyeing his eyes crimson. If those really were his other self's memories…
Hate and dissatisfaction swallowed him whole. Why? How?
After Hua Binan had dragged him back to life and turned him into this shambling corpse, all he had was the destroyed Wushan Palace and an endless, nauseating mess to clean up. When he ran in a panic to the Red Lotus Pavilion, what had he seen? Leaves withered and dead without spiritual energy, haitang flowers strewn over the ground, empty rooms—that lotus pond without its inhabitant.
Hua Binan had yanked him out of hell, but Chu Wanning's corpse had already dissolved into ash. Nothing was left, not one scrap of his remains.
He remembered stumbling to the edge of the pond and staring expressionlessly down at its surface. He cupped a handful of the water. It was deep and cold, chilling him to the bone. He shuddered. The water spilled from his hands, and he sank to the ground.
Despite his return to life, what did he have left? He hated living more with every day that passed, but he was not his own master; he had no choice. He had to obey Hua Binan.
Later, Hua Binan found a fissure in space-time, but refused to tell him who had made it. That bastard cheerfully slipped off into the other world, leaving him here to slave away. His small consolation was the news Hua Binan brought him from time to time to keep him updated on the happenings in the other world.
He learned that part of his soul had been reborn there. He learned of Shi Mei, Xue Meng, and the long-dead Ye Wangxi and Nangong Si.
He also learned of Chu Wanning.
Hua Binan's letters were always brief. Taxian-jun despised his handwriting, each stroke so sharp it resembled a scorpion's pincers. Yet his letters became that living dead man's only hope. They were like a breath of air to a drowning man: With every letter he received, each time a new one came in, he would read and reread the words written in that hand he loathed several hundred times over.
He was convinced he'd gone insane.
At night, the servants ate their dinners. He liked this kind of busy atmosphere, so he made them all gather at the hall, just like before. He'd sprawl on the throne and watch them eat, and from time to time, he'd ask how the food tasted.
Taxian-jun had never liked reading, but he'd spent all these years alone. The long nights were dull, and his only pastime was reading those bamboo scrolls. Slowly, he too began to develop an appreciation for the descriptive potential of language.
Sometimes, when he wanted them to have some crispy scorched rice, he'd say: "Come, eat one of those guoba for this venerable one, they're mind-shatteringly crunchy." If he wanted them to eat spinach with red stems, he'd say, "Try a bite, the taste is unbe-leaf-able."
Motivating an illiterate to pick up a book was a challenge indeed. And if that illiterate came to delight in the act, perhaps the only conclusion one could draw was that he had very few delights left to him.
On this night, midway through their meal, someone came in with a report. "Your Majesty, the senior sage has returned."
"Just him?"
"He's come with Pavilion Master Mu of Tianyin Pavilion. They say they're preparing the offerings, and they will meet with Your Majesty once they're done."
Taxian-jun plucked a purple grape from a silver platter, his expression unchanged. "Then let them take their time. This venerable one enjoys the break."
"Also," the messenger continued, "the senior sage has a reminder for Your Majesty."
"What is it?"
"Your Majesty must be vigilant over the next few days. The world is in chaos; he is sure to come."
Taxian-jun's eyes darkened. After a beat, he grinned. "Understood. This venerable one knows what he's about."
Of course he would come. The two worlds had combined, and tens of thousands of refugees were fleeing the effects of their merging. Mo-zongshi was dead, and Sisheng Peak had fallen. He and Chu Wanning were alike in one thing: They had nothing left. Chu Wanning would find him, heedless of his own life.
Taxian-jun wasn't afraid. Rather, he felt a mysterious thrill of anticipation.
Night fell. Candlelight filled the palace like so many stars. Wushan Palace alone had its nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine lamps lit, their brightness rivaling the sun.
Summoning Liu-gong, Taxian-jun ordered, "Have them put out half the lights."
It was too bright. Chu Wanning would have a hard time sneaking in like this, so he lowered their defenses.
Liu-gong went off to do his bidding. Taxian-jun stood waiting; when Liu-gong returned, he said, "Your Majesty, half the lights are out."
Taxian-jun looked out at the dim glow filling the hall and was yet unsatisfied. After some thought he said, "Just put them all out."
Liu-gong goggled at him.
Every lamp in Wushan Palace was doused, but Taxian-jun's heart had begun to brighten. He could feel that Chu Wanning was almost here. He'd come dressed in white, glaring furiously as he spat those irritating precepts of righteousness—he'd surely want to exact revenge for Mo-zongshi.
The thought excited him further. He licked his lips, running his tongue over his teeth. Only one copper lamp remained lit in the depths of those gauzy drapes. It was the flame he'd prepared for the despairing moth that was Chu Wanning, to signal that he was waiting—waiting for him to fly over and seek his own destruction.
The night darkened. Rain began to fall outside the windows.
Taxian-jun changed into his most magnificent gold-embroidered black robes and carefully straightened the bedsheets and pillows with his own hands. He paced around the room, feeling there was something missing, then ordered his attendants to bring him a jar of aged pear-blossom white and keep it warmed in water.
This man heated fine wine, wore his best clothes, and waited by the bedside, staring out at the rainstorm beyond the window. Throughout, he never summoned so much as a shadow of Bugui.
But still he convinced himself otherwise, standing guard with his wine and his fluffed pillows, thinking murderously, Tsk. Once Chu Wanning gets here, I'll show him a pitiless fight!