Chapter 26: I Was Born a King

Its blood was cold—through all seasons, from the crown of its head to the tip of its tail, a chill seeped from its being, bleak and icy. When it became her, the blood grew warm, yet from heart to skin, the coldness remained; it was only because this abrupt transformation was never its wish. It could feel the heat burning in her chest, all for a man who, in its eyes, was as insignificant as dust.

Was he a God-King? It merely guessed by following reason, for it had long since lost the power of divination and could no longer glimpse the will of Heaven. It was now a thorough mortal—or perhaps, more accurately, nothing but a snake. Even though it now dwelled amid the golden splendor of the imperial palace, among those above all others, it had never wished to become human.

It never wished to be human.

In the afternoon, slanting sunlight filtered through pearl-pink silk curtains into the tranquil bedchamber, where motes of pink dust danced, scattering into colorful beams. Upon the bed, beneath the spring quilt, Daidai entwined herself around him, their skins pressed together, warm and caressing; yet he slept deeply, at peace, his long brows relaxed, the shadows beneath his handsome eyes gradually fading away.

This vast nation, beset by foreign enemies and border skirmishes, plagued within by disasters and endless banditry, its government riddled with corruption, the treasury empty, the economy unbalanced, and taxes a crushing burden upon the people—so many matters to exhaust the mind, all in desperate need of solutions.

He, the young monarch upon whom the hope of restoring Great Yan was placed, had devoted himself tirelessly to seeking solutions, diligent every day, never daring a moment’s laxity, yet still felt the weight of it all. The ice had thickened over generations; the decline of Great Yan was not the work of a day or a year, and to change it overnight was truly a task as hard as reaching the heavens.

Since the enemy invasion began, he had constantly feared becoming the sovereign who lost his nation. For two years, he had not slept soundly, always prepared for battle, never daring to rest deeply. Perhaps now, having learned the foreign threat had been lifted, or perhaps it was the embrace of the silken quilt that clung so closely, as soon as his head touched the pillow and his body relaxed, sleep claimed him—soft as falling into cotton, as if returning to the womb, peaceful and comfortable.

But Daidai was awake. Without the hundred-day stupor brewed by flower spirits, she could not sleep much before dizziness and lethargy set in.

Within the gauzy canopy, a faint fragrance drifted, everywhere silk and brocade in soft red, suffused with gentle intimacy. The white silk shirt Ji Ye wore had long since been peeled away by Daidai in his sleep, revealing skin of pale bronze, firm and taut, leaving no trace even when poked lightly with her fingertip.

Upon his broad chest, two cherry-red berries grew on either side. Daidai glanced down at her own full, snowy breasts, then at his, finally unable to resist pinching them between her fingers. Suddenly, a faint moan sounded above her.

A jolt ran through Daidai’s body; agile as a monkey, she leapt away, lying quietly amid the luxurious quilts, peering up at him.

Her heart gave a sudden, violent thud, as if life itself were severed in that moment.

One hand pressed her sweat-damp brow, the other clutched her wildly beating heart, and in her enchanting eyes, layer upon layer of shimmering tears quickly welled.

Familiar and yet strange, a rending pain struck her, the sensation of teetering on the brink of annihilation. Her gaze grew suddenly clear, deep and remote, as if tracing back through countless ages—a cascade of scenes: chaos, suffering, beasts howling, bloodshed, cries, joy, separation, destruction.

Darkness swept before her eyes; she clapped her hands over them, her heart pounding wildly—thump, thump, thump—so loudly it woke Ji Ye.

Daidai sprang from the bed, her long black hair falling below her hips like a veil around her slender form. Ji Ye stared in a daze; had he imagined the look in her eyes during that fleeting moment?

In the blink of an eye, her expression was once more innocent and pure, her gaze like flawless jade.

On either side stood six tall tables, each bearing a pot of peerless peonies—imperial purple, Yao yellow, verdant green, sapphire blue, Zhao pink, crimson, white jade, and ice. Every bloom was lush and dripping with beauty.

Her hair cascading behind, her delicate body blushing, the beauty leaned forward to inhale the fragrance, her head bowed in a gesture both enchanting and pure. Who, he wondered, could blend such innocence with such allure?

He was entranced, unable to resist stepping before her, lifting a lock of her hair that had fallen by her ear, brushing it softly against her skin.

In this moment, he regarded her as a precious pearl, to be cradled and admired, fearful of breaking it, of failing to appreciate its beauty.

Facing her exquisite nakedness, he felt no impure thoughts; in the silver-pink light, amid the subtle scent of the boudoir, all he wished was to gaze upon her quietly beneath the flowers.

Yet now, she seemed a book written in the language of heaven, unreadable, her eyes though pure, concealing unfathomable depths.

Was she truly a woman who played the fool to deceive the dragon?

Had he been mistaken all along?

Daidai shook her head, shrugged off his heavy hand, seized a silver needle used to adjust the candlewick, and stabbed it into the soil of a flowerpot. Clumsy, she sent black earth flying, shattering the tender intimacy of the moment.

Ji Ye came to his senses, laughed at himself, straightened his clothes, then fetched a wide-sleeved gauzy robe to drape over Daidai. Indulgently, he chided, “When did you pick up such unruly habits, wandering about unclothed—are you trying to tempt me at every turn?”

Daidai’s delicate shoulders twitched, and the moon-white robe drifted to the floor; still naked, she stood before the flowerpot, stabbing at the soil, taunting him with a flash of her pink tongue.

Naturally, the only threat he perceived was the temptation to kiss, never any true danger.

“Put this on!” The thought of her running around naked in his absence soured his face, even though all in Ganquan Palace were only maids and eunuchs.

“No. It hurts when I wear it,” she grumbled. “It’s a burden.”

She gave him a dismissive humph, flicked a dirty clod from the soil with the silver needle, and tossed it at him.

Ji Ye, trained in martial arts since childhood, dodged nimbly aside, stamping his foot in frustration, growling, “You Daidai, are you planning a rebellion?”

So vexed was he that he didn’t even notice what exactly Daidai had unearthed.

“All right, all right. I’ll put something on if I leave this room,” Daidai said, turning to poke at another pot.

On the ornate golden-carpet, black clumps of soil lay scattered, one especially conspicuous—wrapped in brownish matter. A vein throbbed on Ji Ye’s brow as he hurried forward, hoisted Daidai onto the bed, and laughed, “Shall I dress our noble lady myself?”

Ignoring her struggles, he called loudly, “Li Fuquan, get in here!”

Outside, the old eunuch, dozing against a curio shelf, started awake and hurried in, bowing low.

“These peonies look about to wither,” Ji Ye commanded. “Clear them out and bring your mistress some fresh, vibrant ones.”

Li Fuquan, entering, immediately spotted the incriminating clod he himself had buried and, hearing the veiled order, replied promptly, “Rest assured, Your Majesty, I will see to it personally.”

The bed curtains half-concealed the scene; Li Fuquan only glimpsed His Majesty pressing down upon his mistress before swiftly pocketing the suspicious item and quietly summoning others to remove the flowerpots.

Daidai was squishing Ji Ye’s face between her hands, molding it flat and laughing to herself with delight.

Now, all he could do was indulge this mischievous girl; anger was impossible. He only pried her hands away, pinning them above her head, straddling her as he smiled down, “Not wearing clothes—are you trying to seduce me?”

“Hug me. Kiss me,” Daidai murmured, squirming beneath him, her eyes like silk, her breath fragrant.

Ji Ye felt as though he’d met a spirit sent solely to ruin his resolve. But he was only the Son of Heaven, never one for cultivation or asceticism; he believed neither in the Dao nor in Buddha.

He moved at ease through the affairs of the world, never ensnared by temptation—how could such a little beauty bewitch him?

She was simply a peerless beauty capable of stirring his heart and desire.

“If you want it, come get it yourself. I’m still sleepy.” He reclined, stretching out, eyes smiling, looking every bit the handsome prince awaiting her pleasure.

Daidai seemed enchanted by him, her bones melting, her heartstrings singing a tune as lofty as mountains and rivers.

“My king—let me call you king, whether you are or not,” she whispered, flowing over his chest, waist, and lips like a clear spring.

He could not help but embrace this slippery, enchanting creature tightly, as if she might slip away at any moment, his eyes and brows suffused with boundless affection. “I am a king—a king indeed.”