Spring Remains the Same - Chapter 84

It was late at night by the time they left the Chancellor’s residence.

The city of Luoyang had fallen into a deep slumber. The vast metropolis was steeped in the night, utterly silent.

The carriage drove through the empty streets, the echoes of its wheels reverberating from all sides, sounding exceptionally clear and exceptionally desolate.

“Why did Dewen suddenly start mentioning Brother Yan?” Puyang leaned on Wei Xiu’s shoulder, thinking about what Chancellor Wang had said at the residence.

Wei Xiu replied, “I was the one who told him to. Mentioning the Prince of Yan is a way to grow closer to His Majesty.”

Puyang understood at once, then chuckled softly. “A pity. It’s a good plan, but Dewen is only applying it mechanically, without grasping your deeper meaning at all.”

Wei Xiu had suggested that Xiao Dewen mention the Prince of Yan more often to get closer to the Emperor. In that sentence, mentioning the Prince of Yan was merely a means; the ultimate goal was to get closer to the Emperor. But Xiao Dewen brought him up constantly. Even if the Emperor was still grieving for his firstborn son who had died in his prime, after such repeated mentions, how much of that grief would remain over time? A grandson’s favor came from the son. If the Emperor no longer grieved for the Prince of Yan, how could he cherish Xiao Dewen?

Wei Xiu also gave a faint smile. “He is too impatient.” Eager for quick success, he did not understand the value of a slow and steady approach.

However, when she thought of the dream, where she had exhausted every means to help Xiao Dewen ascend the throne, his current performance was not too surprising.

This was the extent of his abilities.

Puyang also thought of their past life. For Wei Xiu to have enabled Dewen to take the throne was truly a remarkable feat. She couldn’t help but smile. “From now on, the Prince Consort will have to redouble her efforts.”

“Your Highness, rest assured,” Wei Xiu replied.

Her voice was somewhat cold, as if concealing a deep weariness.

Puyang lifted her head from Wei Xiu’s shoulder and looked at her with concern. She saw a mixture of complex emotions in Wei Xiu’s dark eyes—fatigue, aversion, rejection—like layers of dark clouds gathering in her eyes and in her heart, growing heavier by the day.

This Wei Xiu was utterly unfamiliar. Puyang’s heart inexplicably fluttered with panic, and she called out urgently, “A Xiu?”

Wei Xiu turned her head blankly, her dark pupils slightly unfocused. She saw Puyang clearly, her gaze fixing on her face, and she also saw her unease. A dull ache pulsed in her heart.

She smiled as if nothing was wrong, sweeping away the gloom in her eyes, and asked gently, “What is it?”

Puyang grew even more uneasy. She gently caressed the corner of Wei Xiu’s eye, her face showing a puzzled expression as she asked, “What’s wrong with you?”

Wei Xiu’s brow lowered wearily. “I’m probably just tired.”

This explanation was quite reasonable.

Yesterday had been a full day of activity, followed by a sleepless night of travel. She had only slept for a short while in the morning before rushing to the banquet in the afternoon. It was indeed exhausting. Puyang was still uneasy, but she could find no other reason. She had to dismiss her doubts, thinking she was overthinking things, and said softly, “Just bear with it a little longer. We’ll be home soon.”

Wei Xiu smiled. “Mm.”

Before long, they arrived back at the Wei residence.

The servants knew the Prince Consort and the Princess would need to wash up after returning from a banquet and had already prepared hot water for their bath.

Wei Xiu and Puyang dismissed the numerous eunuchs and maids on night duty, telling them to go rest.

The arrangement of the bridal chamber was the same as the day before, only the items used specifically for the wedding night had been removed. The festive air had faded, making it look more like the living quarters of an ordinary couple.

There was a bathing area in the room. Puyang let Wei Xiu go first while she stayed outside to remove the many jewels and ornaments from her hair.

When Wei Xiu came out from her bath, her face was flushed from the steam, and her figure, clad only in her undergarments, looked even thinner. Puyang felt both heartache and affection. She went forward and pushed Wei Xiu toward the couch, but instead of insisting on watching her lie down, she turned to take her own bath.

Wei Xiu watched her leave the inner chamber before taking her crutch, propping herself up from the wheelchair, and moving step by step to the couch. She placed the crutch back in its original spot, then lay down flat and pulled the brocade quilt over herself.

She closed her eyes but did not fall asleep. Her mind was heavy with thoughts, making it difficult to sleep. And she did not want the Princess to face a bridegroom who was completely unconscious on their second night of marriage.

The former was due to hatred, the latter due to love.

She could not let go of either.

People are always unwilling to forget their true selves, and Wei Xiu was unwilling to completely sever ties with her past. Hatred was the force that drove her forward, but was the love of her parents and family not also the reason she had spent so many years, year after year, day after day, doing only one thing? Before that fate-altering night, life had been so perfect. She missed it, yearned for it. For the sake of revenge, she had to forsake her name and change her identity, but in the end, she could not bear to part with it all. So she kept Zhongmeng as her courtesy name, a small memento.

The name of a child—aside from Chen Du, she imagined no one in the capital would remember it. Now it was even better; Chen Du was gone too.

She felt that she was living ignobly. Even if she were to set aside her thoughts of revenge for the sake of the world, she should not have fallen in love with her enemy’s daughter. How had things come to this? Was it because of that dream?

She was lost, struggling, yet she knew that reason could not likely sway her heart.

A short while later, Puyang returned.

Hearing the sound, Wei Xiu opened her eyes. Puyang had deliberately lightened her steps as she entered, only to see that Wei Xiu was not yet asleep. She smiled. “Didn’t you say you were tired?”

As she spoke, she walked closer and sat beside Wei Xiu.

Wei Xiu lay flat on her back, her gaze fixed on Puyang, following her as she approached.

“I’m not tired anymore,” she said casually.

Puyang blinked, a smile playing on her lips. She lifted the brocade quilt and lay down beside Wei Xiu. They had slept side by side like this in the morning, but at that time, they had been so exhausted they had fallen asleep almost the moment they lay down, with no mind for anything else. It was different now.

Puyang turned her head and saw Wei Xiu’s face, so close to her own. They lay side by side under the same quilt, their shoulders touching.

Wei Xiu sensed her gaze and turned to look back at her.

Her clear eyes were like a pool of limpid water, shimmering with light. Looking into those eyes, Puyang felt as if her heart had skipped a beat.

The air grew thick. A blush crept onto Puyang’s face, and she nervously searched for something to say. “Sir, you are learned in matters ancient and modern. Have you ever heard of that Grand Marshal my maternal grandfather spoke of?”

She had simply plucked a topic out of thin air, and she was also curious about that Grand Marshal Zhong.

Then, she saw a brilliant light flare in Wei Xiu’s eyes, only to be extinguished just as quickly.

“I have heard a little, but nothing detailed,” she said faintly.

Puyang thought for a moment, then frowned. “If he was a hero, he should not be nameless. Even though he was a minister of the former dynasty, the Wei inherited from the Zhou, so he also rendered service to the state.”

Wei Xiu’s expression froze for a moment. She was silent for a while before she said, “Your Highness has a noble heart. I hope Your Highness will remember what you said today.”

Emperors, kings, generals, and ministers—who among them did not care for their posthumous reputation? If he was a hero, his story was bound to be tragic. Puyang just felt that a hero should not suffer in life only to be forgotten in death. The fact that Qi and Song had extinguished their ambitions for a northern expedition over twenty years ago was thanks to the bloody battles fought by the many generals and soldiers of the Zhou dynasty. This great and prosperous age should not bury their contributions.

“Of course,” Puyang promised, making a mental note of the matter. A thought suddenly occurred to her. “Your courtesy name also has the character ‘Zhong’.” It was common for people of that time to have ‘Zhong’ in their names or courtesy names, usually indicating their birth order. But she had never heard that Wei Xiu had an older brother.

Wei Xiu turned her head back to look at her.

Puyang was also looking at her. At this moment, she had finally shed her daytime composure, revealing before her beloved the unguarded appearance of a nineteen-year-old girl. With all her hairpins and ornaments removed, she was unadorned, like a hibiscus flower fresh from the water, bright and pure.

Wei Xiu did not speak.

Puyang gradually grew puzzled. She smiled and caressed Wei Xiu’s brow and eyes, her voice low and soft. “What is it? Why are you silent?” As she spoke, a gentle, teasing smile touched her eyes. “Could it be that the ‘Zhong’ in A Xiu’s courtesy name is truly related to Lord Zhong?”

The casual joke made Wei Xiu’s heart tremble violently. Her eardrums throbbed, and her ears seemed to fill with a roaring noise, throwing her mind into disarray.

Since she dared to use the name Zhongmeng, she was naturally fully prepared. But today was the second day of their marriage, and she did not want to deceive her with lies. She had already wronged so many people; she did not want to add Puyang to the list.

She looked deeply at Puyang, her gaze as profound as a bottomless abyss. She remained silent, but that profound gaze gradually turned fervent, focused entirely on Puyang alone. The corners of her eyes and the arch of her brows were filled with endless, lingering affection. Puyang felt she had no escape from Wei Xiu’s gaze. She was captivated, forgetting what she had just been saying.

“A Xiu…” Puyang unconsciously leaned closer.

“I am here…” Wei Xiu spoke, her gentle voice carrying an endless allure, tempting Puyang to draw near.

In the dim candlelight, her handsome face appeared even more delicate. Her eyes were on her, her heart was with her. The thought of this enchanted Puyang. Two lifetimes—how long, how arduous. What a profound fate it must be to have entwined them for two lifetimes without fading.

Their lips touched. Wei Xiu closed her eyes. Puyang turned over, pressing her down.

The undergarments were smooth and soft, the sash easy to untie.

Desire was easily kindled, and the tentative tenderness was no longer enough to satisfy. Puyang held Wei Xiu’s lips, sucking and licking. Wei Xiu relaxed her body, surrendering it to Puyang’s hands, letting her take as she pleased.

She left her lips, kissing her eyes, her forehead, her neck. Her hand slipped through the undergarment, covering her warm skin.

Wei Xiu bit her lower lip, enduring the tide of passion that washed over her. She never knew her body could be so sensitive; a mere light touch sent shivers through her.

The candle was extinguished.

Puyang removed her own clothes, her body pressing against Wei Xiu’s without any barrier. Two equally soft, smooth bodies intertwined. Wei Xiu’s breathing grew heavy. She held back, not letting a single moan escape. A mischievous thought arose in Puyang, and she gently bit down on a tender, pink bud.

A low moan finally spilled from between her lips. Wei Xiu trembled with shame. Her voice was low and soft, hoarse, and fragile, like a child finally revealing its wound. She clung tightly to the one who was teasing her, calling out “Seventh Lady” again and again, as if begging for mercy, and yet also begging her to go further.