TCPM 8

 

Chapter 8

Xu Jianyou was observing Wei Zai, and Wei Zai was likewise observing Xu Jianyou. Although Xu Jianyou kept emphasizing that she was not Xu Qingchu, Wei Zai was already firmly convinced. She couldn't help but subconsciously compare the Xu Jianyou before her with the Xu Qingchu of the past.

Xu Qingchu had been colder, while Xu Jianyou was warmer; Xu Qingchu spoke less, while Xu Jianyou talked more. The Xu Qingchu she had witnessed was calm and restrained to the absolute extreme—she was like a bedrock, a pillar that nothing seemed able to shake. In Wei Zai's eyes, she was capable of everything. Strange to say, Xu Qingchu was only four years older than Wei Zai; when Wei Zai was in her twenties and still innocent and lively, Xu Qingchu already possessed that meticulous, cold, and severe countenance. Even later on, when they had reached such an intimate relationship, Xu Qingchu would not hesitate for even a fraction of a second when rising from the couch, turning back to haul Wei Zai up to get to work. Wei Zai always felt that in her heart, her state and country surpassed everything else—and that "everything" included Wei Zai herself.

And what was Xu Jianyou like? She was eager to learn, hardworking, quick-witted, and had her own little schemes and calculations, but she was far too green and tender. Perhaps the Xu Qingchu of ages past had looked just like this when Wei Zai first saw her; across thousands of years of time, it was now Wei Zai's turn to gaze upon an innocent and naive Xu Qingchu.

If they truly were the same person, did that mean Xu Qingchu had once possessed such a phase as well?

Wei Zai had no way to verify it.

Xu Jianyou had just finished the midterm period, turning in a string of assignments and short research papers, while her research topic had been roughly discussed with her advisor, granting her a brief window to catch her breath. Stepping out of her advisor's office, her footsteps were so light she felt as though she might float away. Wei Zai followed her all the way back home, watching as she resolutely kicked off her shoes, bounded straight onto the bed, and collapsed face-first onto it, lying motionless.

Wei Zai was puzzled: "Is it really that exhausting?"

"You don't understand. Students who have just survived exam week are all like this. Go play by yourself, I need to take a nap." Xu Jianyou flipped over and wrapped herself tightly in the blanket.

"It's still daytime."

"So what if it's daytime? I was up until 3 a.m. last night revising my paper, don't I need to make up for it?"

Thinking back to her days as emperor, when she was at her busiest she would review memorials until the moon reached the center of the sky, yet still had to rise at the yin hour to prepare for morning court. Day after day was filled with piles of state affairs, and by the time she finished everything, darkness had fallen once again. Pondering this, she had suffered so terribly; Wei Zai almost wanted to shed a tear for herself.

She gazed at Xu Jianyou's sleeping face, recalling how back then Xu Qingchu slept even less than her yet maintained an immensely superior spirit. In the morning she would haul Wei Zai up from the couch, in the daytime she would wake Wei Zai whenever she nodded off, and at night she would drag her over to discuss state affairs. Why was this person never capable of feeling sleepy? No matter whether it was sleeping for just two double-hours, why was she always crystal clear and awake? This person was truly wicked to the core. Regardless of spring, summer, autumn, or winter, and no matter what time they had gone to sleep the previous night, unless it was a scheduled rest day, she would unyieldingly wake Wei Zai right at the start of the yin hour. When Wei Zai refused to get up, Xu Qingchu would haul her straight off the couch with her own hands, shove her into the arms of the attending servants, and press an ice-cold damp cloth directly against Wei Zai's face—freezing her into instant wakefulness. At that moment, Xu Qingchu would take advantage of the unlit predawn sky to leave the palace, entering back through the Meridian Gate to attend morning court. Once, when Wei Zai threw a tantrum and declared, "Can I not play the muddled tyrant just for once?!" Xu Qingchu gave her a cold stare and stated with absolute ruthlessness, "No."—leaving Wei Zai half-choked to death. Yet that very evening, no sooner had the xu hour passed than Xu Qingchu dragged her right back onto the couch. Wei Zai had been pushed to the point of muddle-headedness by her actions, halfway through their floating, sinking rhythms suspecting that Xu Qingchu was angry, though she lacked any remaining strength to analyze it closely. Right before plunging into deep sleep, she dazedly heard a soft sigh from Xu Qingchu. When she woke the next day, Xu Qingchu hadn't called out to her, having already left the palace early. Wei Zai, having slept fully and to her heart's content, woke up naturally before the attendants came to summon her, and as she dressed, she muttered indignantly: what kind of person was this, truly wicked through and through.

Thinking about it now: this person had a disposition that was stinking, rigid, and stubborn to a fault, refusing to ever speak sweet words—she truly couldn't fathom what she had ever liked about her. Yet... yet the sight of her plotting with seasoned mastery, parsing every strand of order with absolute clarity, was genuinely, undeniably captivating. Furthermore, watching such a person display such repressed, disciplined restraint upon her couch was unspeakably heart-palpitating. If Wei Zai took the lead, she could easily make her show whatever expression she desired; but when Xu Qingchu took the lead, the semi-mad, half-concealed state she adopted for Wei Zai revealed an affection of the most violent, intense fervor.

Ah, I really am such an easily read person. Wei Zai smiled secretly, as though she could still see Xu Qingchu's helpless, yielding, and resigned gentle smile.

Looking out past Xu Jianyou's windowsill, one could see the school's sports field. As evening gradually darkened, speckled lights flickered to life, casting a dim, golden glow over the campus. Wei Zai loved gazing at night scenery. The thousands of brilliant lanterns and sparkling fireworks of the Zhou dynasty cost pure silver coins, which Wei Zai was too stingy to burn away recklessly, indulging in them only once a year during the Lantern Festival to share the joy with her people. She would host a banquet atop the city gate tower, summoning all her high ministers. The first half of the evening was an official banquet for senior dignitaries filled with formal protocol; in the second half, after the old ministers had departed, only her old retainers from the prince's manor remained—most of whom had witnessed her uninhibited, lawless youth—and they would carouse and play until deep into the night before finally dispersing. The only one who stayed until the very end was Xu Qingchu. They would sit side by side upon the gate tower, looking down at the long streets of the capital as the wild revelry finally subsided into quiet tranquility, raising their heads to look at the star-filled sky above. At the time, she never knew that a thousand years later, every single night would shine with such dazzling brilliance.

She turned back from the window. Moonlight spilled across Xu Jianyou's sleeping face—a visage carved deep into her heart, never forgotten for a single day. Yet, without those bitter and grueling past trials, without the lifelong covenant of sovereign and subject never to betray one another, without gazing together day after day into the profound depths of the deep palace, without enduring all those ups and downs, ebbs and flows together, and without the decades they had walked side by side—was she still that same person? Was she still that Xu Qingchu whose very flesh and blood were half-melted into Wei Zai's own body?

She was simply Xu Jianyou.

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