In the silence, Emperor Jingxuan held Yun Wan’s hand and mused, “How old are you, my lady?”
Yun Wan glanced at him. “This year marks twenty-three.”
“Is that so?”
Hearing this, Emperor Jingxuan suddenly smiled. “Then we are not far apart in age.”
She was twenty-three, and he thirty-one—a mere eight years’ difference.
When he was seven, she had not yet been born. By the time he turned eight, she must have arrived in the world.
Just eight years. Nothing more.
Yun Wan lowered her gaze to her hand, which he was gripping tighter by the second, and regretted ever bringing up the subject.
Just as she was about to speak, Emperor Jingxuan called out loudly, “Jiang Fusheng!”
The moment he entered the hall, Jiang Fusheng sensed something amiss and bowed. “Your servant is here. What does Your Majesty command?”
Emperor Jingxuan sat upright, still holding Yun Wan’s hand, and said coolly, “Tell me, when you look at the lady and me side by side, how great do you think the age difference is?”
“Uh…” Jiang Fusheng was stunned.
He stole a glance at Emperor Jingxuan, then at the breathtakingly beautiful Yun Wan beside him, her loveliness like peach blossoms in bloom, and scrambled to think.
Under the emperor’s oppressive gaze, cold sweat broke out on his back in waves.
Taking a deep breath, he blurted out as if throwing caution to the wind, “Forgive this lowly servant, but I truly cannot give an exact number. If I must say, I’d think you and the lady appear to be of similar age—perhaps a difference of… two or three years at most?”
His tone was unmistakably ingratiating.
In truth, he knew full well it was eight years!
The emperor and the lady were a full eight years apart!
A few more years, and His Majesty could have been her father! Among common folk, this would be called an old bull grazing on tender grass!
“Is that so?”
Emperor Jingxuan’s brow relaxed slightly, though his expression remained skeptical.
Jiang Fusheng nodded eagerly, grinning. “Of course! I wouldn’t dare lie to Your Majesty even with ten lives to spare!”
Emperor Jingxuan snorted coldly, and Jiang Fusheng felt the pressure intensify.
Yun Wan sighed and spoke up in his defense. “Your Majesty, there’s no need to trouble Jiang Fusheng over this. Age is a matter of fate, not human effort. Besides, since you do not wear a beard, you hardly look like—”
Meeting Emperor Jingxuan’s dark gaze, she sensed danger and swiftly changed tack with a smile. “As the sages say, a man stands firm at thirty. Your Majesty is in the prime of life.”
Something in her words pleased him, and his expression softened. With a wave, he dismissed Jiang Fusheng.
The eunuch, as if granted a new lease on life, shot Yun Wan a grateful look before scurrying out.
Eager to steer the conversation away from age, Yun Wan discreetly withdrew her hand and moved to the desk, opening the food box she had brought. With a slight bow, she said,
“Since the refreshments have been delivered, I shall take my leave and not disturb Your Majesty further.”
Emperor Jingxuan waved a hand. “No matter. Stay and keep me company.”
Yun Wan glanced around, her eyes settling on the pile of memorials on the desk. Hesitating, she asked, “What may I do to assist?”
The emperor had already decided. He tapped the inkstone. “Grind ink for me.”
The ink in the stone at the desk’s upper right had dried and needed fresh water and grinding.
Resigned, Yun Wan returned to his side, rolling up her sleeves to take the inkstick. She began grinding in silence.
At first, her movements were unpracticed, but she soon grew adept, applying just the right pressure to avoid any grating noise. The ink she produced was smooth, neither too thick nor too thin.
Graceful as a willow, her slender fingers circled the inkstick with delicate precision. Her eyes were lowered, their depths shimmering, while her fair, jade-like hands contrasted starkly against the dark inkstick, every motion exuding elegance.
Emperor Jingxuan glanced sideways and caught sight of the tiny red mole on her wrist, vivid as cinnabar.
He stared for a long moment before finally remarking, “You grind ink quite skillfully, my lady.”
Yun Wan paused briefly, offering only a soft “Mm” in response.
After a while, feeling the weight of his gaze, she set down the inkstick and turned to explain with a resigned smile, “I feared saying too much would displease you, and then you’d be cross again.”
After all, her proficiency at grinding ink stemmed from her time with Lu Fenglan.
Emperor Jingxuan grasped her meaning instantly.
With a disdainful scoff, he said, “Do you take me for some petty, narrow-minded man?”
Yun Wan met his eyes, nodding earnestly. “Of course not.”
“……”
Once the ink was ready, Yun Wan grew restless. With the emperor’s permission, she took a few sheets of paper and began writing to pass the time.
Writing soothed the mind—the more agitated one was, the worse the script turned out. Yun Wan focused stroke by stroke, gradually losing herself in the rhythm.
Outside, the afternoon sun blazed fiercely, but the diligent design of the hall, coupled with ice basins placed strategically, kept the space cool and serene, untouched by summer’s stifling heat.
The palace attendants outside, under Jiang Fusheng’s orders, knew better than to intrude. For a time, the vast hall was filled with nothing but tranquil warmth.
When her wrist began to ache, Yun Wan exhaled and set down the brush after the final stroke. Just then, a shadow fell over the paper.
Emperor Jingxuan had appeared beside her unnoticed. He studied the sheets covered in her writing and remarked, “Your hand is quite delicate.”
Then he pointed at a few characters. “But these strokes seem forced. Were you imitating someone?”
Yun Wan was surprised he had noticed.
Glancing at the characters, she smiled wryly. “Does it look awkward? Like a poor imitation?”
Emperor Jingxuan frowned. “Why mimic another’s style? Write as you naturally would.”
Yun Wan’s smile faded. Pressing her lips together, she admitted, “My own handwriting… lacks grandeur. It looks too timid.”
His brows knitted sharply, and his gaze darkened. “Who told you that?”
Yun Wan lowered her eyes, clearly reluctant to answer.
The emperor’s eyes swept over the paper again, his voice deep and steady. “Your script is elegant and lively, refined yet upright. How is that ‘timid’? To me, it is exquisite—gentle yet resilient, much like you.”
Her eyes flickered. She looked up. “R-Really?”
Biting her lip, she added, “You’re not just saying that to humor me, are you?”
Emperor Jingxuan scoffed. “The fool who said otherwise ought to see a physician for his poor eyesight. His lack of taste does not reflect on others.”
He tapped one of the characters she had imitated. “In fact, these forced strokes—trying too hard to appear free and unrestrained—are the ones that fall short. They pale in comparison to your natural hand.”
Yun Wan stared at the paper, momentarily dazed.
Then, slowly, her lips curved into a smile, her eyes crinkling like crescent moons.
Emperor Jingxuan paused, narrowing his eyes. “Unless I’m mistaken, my lady just smiled?”
Yun Wan said nothing, but the mirth in her eyes deepened.
The emperor studied his wife’s somewhat silly grin and clicked his tongue. “You ought to smile more often.”
In high spirits now, Yun Wan gave a soft hum.
Watching her grow increasingly at ease in his presence, Emperor Jingxuan’s lips quirked upward in rare delight.
As he reached for one of the sheets, a pale green handkerchief slipped from his wide sleeve and fluttered onto the desk.
Yun Wan instinctively picked it up—then froze, her face draining of color.
