Hearing those words suddenly, Yun Wan’s heart skipped a beat.
She lowered her gaze to Sui, her eyes tinged with hesitation. “Why ask this all of a sudden?”
Unconsciously clutching the hem of her clothes, Sui tilted her head. “I’ve never seen Father with my own eyes. I don’t know what he looks like.”
“But Sister Yueya and Sister Yuejian both say my skin is as fair as Mother’s, my hair as black as Mother’s, and my nose, lips, and ears as delicate as Mother’s.”
Here came the question.
She raised her hand to touch her own eyes, her bright gaze brimming with curiosity. “So, are my eyes like Father’s?”
No one had ever said Sui’s eyes resembled her mother’s, and even she could tell that her eyes were the only feature that didn’t match her mother’s.
Mother’s eyes were large and round, while hers were slender and tapered.
The difference was unmistakable.
Yun Wan’s heart clenched faintly.
Her eyes drifted over Sui’s face, lingering on those eyes—sharp at the inner corners, sweeping outward in a graceful arc, the outer edges slightly upturned like the tail feathers of a phoenix.
Though Sui was still young and her features hadn’t fully matured, it was clear she had a pair of strikingly elegant phoenix eyes.
When she grew up, she would undoubtedly become a beautiful woman.
As Yun Wan gazed at those youthful yet subtly sharp eyes, her breath hitched.
Unbidden, another pair of piercing, profound eyes flashed through her mind.
They were nearly identical, she realized abruptly.
“Mother?” Sui tugged at her sleeve.
Snapping out of her thoughts, Yun Wan recalled her husband Lu Fenglan’s appearance and gave an almost imperceptible nod. “...Mhm.”
Her husband was dignified and refined, but due to his frail health and weariness, his eyes often drooped slightly, making them appear no different from phoenix eyes.
Sui’s face lit up with understanding. “So that’s why! No wonder my eyes don’t look like Mother’s—they really are like Father’s!”
Yun Wan gently stroked her brows, her emotions tangled.
......
Inside the golden halls of the imperial palace.
Sunlight poured through the stained-glass windows, mingling with the glow of candle stands and the radiance of night pearls. The gilded screen depicted auspicious beasts and flowers so lifelike they seemed ready to leap forth.
Above the jade steps, the dark carpet embroidered with golden cloud patterns stretched faintly visible all the way to the purple sandalwood dragon-carved imperial desk atop the white marble dais.
The hall was solemn and silent, save for the occasional rustle of papers from the desk.
Amid the flickering lamplight, Emperor Jingxuan dipped his brush in vermillion ink, his brows furrowed in contemplation as he reviewed memorials. His dark robes muted his imperial majesty.
As the brush made its final stroke, his deep, cool voice broke the silence. “Jiang Fusheng, what time is it?”
Hearing this, the eunuch Jiang Fusheng, who had been standing quietly behind a pillar, glanced at the water clock before stepping forward softly. “Your Majesty, it is approximately noon.”
Remembering the remnants of a dream from that morning, Emperor Jingxuan closed the last memorial and rose to leave.
Then came a faint clatter—as the emperor stood, his wide sleeve brushed against the desk, sweeping a memorial and a pale lavender silk handkerchief to the floor.
Jiang Fusheng hurried to pick up the memorial, but he dared not touch the handkerchief.
Emperor Jingxuan turned and bent down to retrieve it himself.
At first glance, the handkerchief was unremarkable—just a simple silk square, dwarfed in his broad palm.
But upon closer inspection, a faint, elusive fragrance lingered on it, a crisp and pure scent that stood out like a refreshing breeze amidst the heavy dragon’s incense permeating the hall.
The emperor lowered his gaze, his phoenix eyes sharp and penetrating, deep yet indifferent.
His tall frame exuded an oppressive, icy authority, but his brow relaxed slightly at the scent.
“Any progress?”
Tucking the handkerchief into his sleeve, Emperor Jingxuan clasped his hands behind his back, his tone as cool as water.
Jiang Fusheng’s heart trembled. He knew exactly what the emperor was referring to and bowed hastily. “Your Majesty, this servant is incompetent. There has been no progress in locating the owner of the handkerchief. The Black Dragon Guards... also have no leads.”
His head remained lowered.
As the chief eunuch, he was well aware of the handkerchief’s origin and why the emperor carried it.
Five years ago, the emperor had been schemed against, and someone had gotten close to him. Afterward, the person vanished without a trace, leaving only this handkerchief behind.
The silk material, while precious to commoners, was nothing extraordinary in the capital’s high society.
Soft and skin-friendly, noblewomen often used silk for their handkerchiefs.
What made this one unique was the lingering fragrance—somehow, it alleviated the chronic headaches that had plagued the emperor for years, which was why he kept it.
Yet the matter remained baffling. Despite five years of investigation by him and the Black Dragon Guards, the owner of the handkerchief remained unknown.
Logically, there was nothing the Black Dragon Guards couldn’t uncover. But that night had been the emperor’s birthday banquet, attended by officials and their families, making movements within the palace chaotic.
A fire had broken out in a side hall, and assassins had taken advantage of the chaos to infiltrate the emperor’s chambers.
Amid the pandemonium, tracking down one person had been nearly impossible.
Fortunately, the emperor hadn’t been resting in his chambers that night, so his safety was unharmed. Later, the Black Dragon Guards and the Imperial Guard purged the palace, rooting out the conspirators behind the arson and assassination attempt.
Only the owner of the handkerchief remained untraceable.
Initially, they had suspected a palace consort or an audacious maid attempting to climb into the imperial bed for a chance at glory.
But after three days of searching—and years of continued efforts—they had found nothing.
At this thought, Jiang Fusheng’s face flushed with shame.
Emperor Jingxuan gave a faint hum, unsurprised by the outcome.
His dark, inscrutable phoenix eyes gazed ahead, unfathomable.
......
On a cobblestone path, a man paused to gaze into the distance.
The young servant in gray behind him followed his line of sight and murmured uncertainly, “Master, isn’t that Third Madam and Young Master Changsui?”
The man remained silent. Dappled light filtered through the leaves, glinting off the cloud-patterned brocade of his robe embroidered with qilins. His features were refined, his stature tall and poised.
The servant muttered again, puzzled, “Strange. Third Madam clearly saw us, so why did she take the smaller path instead?”
That path was overgrown with spring weeds, the cobblestones uneven and difficult to walk on.
Surely she wasn’t avoiding the Duke...?
The thought had barely formed when the servant met his master’s gaze. A chill ran down his spine, and he hastily slapped his own cheeks. “Forgive this lowly one’s impertinence, Your Grace!”
Lu Yuanduo glanced at him. “Go clear the weeds from that path.”
Weeds?
Which path had weeds?
The servant stared at the overgrown, seemingly endless cobblestone trail and nearly wept.
