Song of the Bright Moon Chapter 104

The next day, while Shen Yujiao was in the rear courtyard, she overheard Qiao Momo reporting on the happenings in the front yard.

Pei Xia had handed Ping’an over to Xie Wuling. Though the two men exchanged few words, they at least maintained surface courtesy—no quarrels, no violence.

Only, when Xie Wuling left with the child, his face was visibly dark.

Qiao Momo, however, kept that part to herself and did not tell her mistress.

And Shen Yujiao did not ask.

Ever since she had given Pei Xia her word the previous night, she knew that she and Xie Wuling, once again, had no future.

What’s more, Pei Xia’s possessiveness toward her had only grown stronger.

In the bedchamber, their intimacy surged like waves—fierce, unrelenting. Beneath his gentleness lay an unhidden dominance.

More than once, she felt as though she were being swallowed whole by that overwhelming tide. Yet whether in the height of passion or the quiet after, his strong, calloused hands never left her waist.

It felt at once like support and restraint.

She sank even as she remained lucid. This time, he did not cover her eyes; she clearly saw the dark waves in his eyes, deeper than the cold night beyond the window.

The man who had always seemed lofty and restrained, pure and ascetic as an immortal had finally fallen into the abyss of desire.

And she could no longer tell, was it she who had pulled him down, or he who had drawn her in?

Either way, within the tangled breaths, the sheen of sweat, the chaotic heartbeat—they were entwined ever tighter, sinking ever deeper…

At that final peak, she did not know what Pei Xia was thinking. But as her fingers left faint marks across his back, a dazed thought crossed her mind—perhaps this truly would be the rest of her life.

Blessing and curse intertwined, bound in life and death—sharing the same bed in life, the same tomb in death, forever and ever.

That year’s Lantern Festival, Shen Yujiao did not go out.

She didn’t mention it, and neither did Pei Xia. Husband and wife shared a tacit understanding—they both wished to avoid the memories of the previous year’s festival.

Instead, Pei Xia bought her hundreds of flower lanterns, in every imaginable design: lotus, moon, rabbit, tiger, gourd, glass pearl… dazzling and splendid, lighting up the entire courtyard in a brilliant glow.

He even personally wrote riddles to hang beneath each lantern.

Holding Di Ge’er in her arms, Shen Yujiao wandered among the sea of glowing lanterns. The child giggled happily, while she guessed the riddles one by one.

Each time she answered one correctly, Pei Xia would give her a gift.

A finely crafted pearl hairpin, a pair of emerald-green jade earrings, a smooth white jade bracelet… Each gift showed his care and thoughtfulness but what delighted Shen Yujiao most was a complete set of “Records of the Buddhist Monasteries of Luoyang” carved in woodblock print.

When she saw the set, she instantly forgot the child in her arms, thrusting Di Ge’er into Pei Xia’s hands and eagerly opening the exquisitely bound volumes, eyes alight with joy.

The book, written by Yang Xuanzhi of the previous dynasty, was divided into five scrolls—covering the western, eastern, southern, northern, and central districts of Luoyang. Each volume meticulously documented the Buddhist temples of the city, describing over seventy monasteries and their architectural structures—a masterpiece of ancient engineering.

Unfortunately, during the change of dynasties, the scrolls for the northern and central districts were lost. Only the first three volumes were known to exist in the world.

Yet the set Pei Xia had given her contained all five volumes—complete.

She held them in delight, treasuring them like precious jewels. “Where did you find these? This is a treasure worthy of being passed down for generations!”

Seeing the light in her eyes, Pei Xia’s own expression softened with quiet pride. “Last year, while sorting old texts in the Imperial Archives, I came across half of a damaged scroll. I thought you might like it, so I restored it.”

But that scroll had belonged to the palace; he could not take it out. So, he had spent his nights carefully transcribing and illustrating it by hand.

Then he commissioned a printing house to carve and print the complete edition—

The original plates were destroyed afterward, meaning the set now in Shen Yujiao’s hands was one of a kind in the world, a true heirloom.

Hearing his words, Shen Yujiao hurriedly turned a few pages to the back and indeed saw Pei Xia’s handwriting…

Even the complex architectural diagrams were rendered with exquisite precision, vivid and lifelike.

She couldn’t help but praise him: “Your drawings are incredible.”

If he hadn’t entered the Hanlin Academy, he could surely have been a talent in the Ministry of Works.

Pei Xia met her astonished, admiring gaze, and warmth spread through his chest; he felt happier than he had the previous spring, even when riding through the city in triumph.

“As long as Yuniang likes it, it’s worth it,” he said.

All those nights spent by lamplight had not been in vain.

Shen Yujiao recalled how late he had come home around the end of last year.

She had thought it was just work keeping him busy, never realizing he had been doing this.

“Yes… I love it very much,” she said softly, lifting her eyes to him again. “Thank you.”

Pei Xia smiled lightly. “Between husband and wife, there’s no need for thanks.”

Then, holding Di Ge’er in his arms, he said, “Jingning, look at this glass lantern.”

The glass lantern shimmered beautifully, casting ripples of colored light.

Di Ge’er, at that age, was especially drawn to colors. He stared at it wide-eyed, too fascinated to even blink, his face full of wonder.

Shen Yujiao looked down at the set of books in her hands, so full of meaning, and then over at the father and son watching the lanterns. Gradually, her heart calmed.

If she could just not think of that person…

She closed her eyes, forcing herself not to remember.

When night grew deep and silent, Pei Xia used another way to help her forget the memory of last year’s Lantern Festival, replacing it with new ones that belonged only to the two of them.

Lanterns glowed faintly in the night; beside the disordered couch lay a scatter of clothes and delicate hairpins.

After eating glutinous rice balls and a cup of warm wine, he pressed her beneath him, their bodies entwined through the endless night.

Casting aside all past ties, all identities, letting the wine’s heat brew inside their bodies until their minds blurred; this night of passion seemed without end, driven only by the most primal instincts.

To live in drunken ecstasy and die in a dream, that was likely what it meant.

The next morning, Shen Yujiao could not get out of bed. Both of them, drunk the night before, seemed to have shed all pretense and turned into different, reckless versions of themselves.

One way or another, with the Lantern Festival’s end came the close of the New Year.

And when the first spring breeze brushed the tender green buds of the willow branches, Chang’an City greeted its first lively affair—

Princess Shouan was getting married.

At the news, Shen Yujiao’s first thought was that this living Bodhisattva was finally leaving.

Since the royal winter hunt last year, Princess Shouan had claimed to be studying court etiquette, but in truth, Consort Xian had confined her. She hadn’t appeared at either the New Year’s Eve banquet or the Lantern Festival feast.

Three months later, when she appeared again, she was pale and frail, as though she had not seen the light of day.

Supported by her maids, Shouan wore a red wedding gown as she went to bid farewell to her mother, Consort Xian. When the consort saw her daughter’s painted face that couldn’t hide her haggardness, a trace of pity stirred in her heart.

But remembering her daughter’s foolish actions and all those sleepless nights these past six months, haunted by fear of whatever “backhand” Jinhua might have left behind, that trace of pity was forcibly swallowed. Calmly, she said, “Once you arrive in Nanzhao, restrain your temper, eat well… and live well.”

Shouan didn’t understand the deeper meaning in her mother’s words. Lifting her thin face, tears streaming down, she cried, “Royal Mother, are you truly so heartless? You would really send your daughter to that barbaric land? Once I leave, we may never see each other again!”

A sharp pain stabbed Consort Xian’s heart.

If the three-year agreement between her and Pei Xia were to be fulfilled, then indeed, they would be separated by life and death, never to meet again in this lifetime.

Thinking of this, Consort Xian finally raised her hand and gently stroked Shouan’s face. Her tearful eyes were filled with tender affection. “Yingying, my child…”

Yingying, Shouan’s childhood name, she was born when the cherry blossoms were in full bloom.

Consort Xian had truly loved this daughter once, wishing her a smooth, carefree, and fulfilling life.

But one wrong step led to another, and she could only watch as the girl walked down a road of no return.

In her heart, Consort Xian did feel remorse. If she had only been more attentive, stricter, would she have prevented her daughter from being bewitched by Jinhua?

But there is no medicine for regret in this world. Once a grave mistake is made, one must bear its fruit.

“My child, don’t resent your mother.”

She tidied the stray hair on Shouan’s forehead, paused for a couple of breaths, then forced a smile onto her fading face. “Never mind, go on, hate me if you must. I brought you into this world, and now I send you… to that distant, savage land. If you harbor resentment, it is only natural.”

Indeed, resentment burned in Shouan’s heart, but she dared not voice it.

Clutching her mother’s legs, she pleaded desperately, making her final struggle.

But in the end, the palace maids escorting her “respectfully invited” her out of Xianling Palace and into the bridal sedan.

“Royal Mother, you’re cruel! I hate you! I hate you to death—!”

Those were the last words Shouan spoke to Consort Xian.

Consort Xian sat by the couch, her face expressionless, as though she hadn’t heard a thing.

Until her attendant softly called, “Your Highness?”

Then Consort Xian’s tears suddenly fell, heavy and fast.

She quickly wiped them away and smiled faintly. “Good. She should hate me.”

After that, she turned toward the small Buddha hall and lit three sticks of incense.

When she came out again, she looked as composed as ever—the same graceful, gentle, and benevolent Consort Xian she had always appeared to be.

—

On the day of Princess Shouan’s marriage, the Second Prince personally escorted the procession fifty li beyond Chang’an.

It was said that before the prince returned to the city, Princess Shouan jumped down from her carriage. Dressed in red, she faced Chang’an and kowtowed three times.

The commoners all praised her: “Princess Shouan is truly righteous and selfless!”

Pei Yi ate a piece of peach blossom cake and told Shen Yujiao, “She jumped from the carriage, knelt before the Second Prince, and begged him to take her back to the palace. Her makeup was ruined by tears, she looked nothing like a princess. The Second Prince didn’t dare look at Nanzhao Prince’s face. In the end, it took three palace maids working together to pull her hands from his legs… sigh, of all the princesses who’ve married afar through the ages, none have made such a scene. She really made both sides lose face.”

Shen Yujiao said nothing. She picked up a piece of plum blossom cake and put it in her mouth, thinking silently, three years later, would Consort Xian really be willing to kill Shouan?

Even if she were, what about the Second Prince?

To kill one’s own kin, even if that kin had erred, human hearts are rarely impartial. Could they truly act without hesitation?

Ah, the human heart.

A wry smile rose in Shen Yujiao’s mind. This complex thing, the human heart, capable of reaching the greatest heights of nobility and the deepest depths of baseness… truly lovable, hateful, admirable, and detestable all at once.

Human hearts change like the wind, and as the twenty-first year of Yuanshou unfolded, so too did the court of Great Chang’an, shifting and stormy, ever more treacherous.

Half a month after Princess Shouan’s distant marriage, another great upheaval struck the palace—

Emperor Zhaoning fell ill.

He had been in good spirits during morning court that day, but that night, after taking a newly refined elixir and seeking out a virgin girl to “replenish his yang with her yin,”

The replenishment went too far, foam came from his mouth as he collapsed onto the girl’s body, struck by paralysis.

It was a scandal, one the palace quickly smothered. To the outside world, the official word was that His Majesty had overworked himself and caught a chill.

But Pei Xia, being a close minister to the Emperor, knew the truth. That night, in the quiet of their bedchamber, he told Shen Yujiao, “It was the Third Prince who brought that sorcerer. The man’s already been executed, and the Third Prince has been confined to his residence after a harsh reprimand.”

Shen Yujiao’s heart tightened with unease; she couldn’t stop herself from thinking of that person.

Pei Xia saw her hesitation and gently stroked her back, speaking softly, “I gave you my word. I won’t break it.”

Only then did Shen Yujiao’s heart ease a little.

Pei Xia leaned down and kissed her lips, pressing her beneath him, using the most direct way to drive that person out of her mind. So that her eyes saw only him, her thoughts were full only of him, and even her body carried nothing but his scent, inside and out, entirely his.

He knew it was a foolish method, one that might last only a night but even so, one night was enough. Even half a moment was enough.

Pei Xia thought: given time, water wears through stone—eventually, he would drive that person completely from her heart.

He had patience enough to wait.

—

In the third month, Emperor Zhaoning remained bedridden and no longer attended court. Officials jointly petitioned for the Crown Prince to act as regent.

But the Emperor refused to respond.

Then, on the seventh day of the third month, a censor secretly reported that the Crown Prince had been performing witchcraft in secret, casting curses against the Emperor.

Enraged, Emperor Zhaoning ordered the Chief Eunuch Han Ping, the Minister of Justice, and Pei Xia to search the Eastern Palace.

In the rear garden beneath a peach tree belonging to the Crown Princess, they dug up a cloth effigy pierced with needles bearing the Emperor’s birth characters.

Everyone in the Eastern Palace was thrown into prison, including the twelve-year-old Crown Grandson.

After interrogation and torture, Crown Princess Liang confessed. She claimed that years of the Emperor’s neglect toward the Eastern Palace had filled her with resentment, and so she had secretly performed witchcraft. She took all the blame herself, leaving a blood-written note on the prison wall begging Emperor Zhaoning to spare the Crown Prince and the Crown Grandson.

The Emperor spared the Crown Prince’s life but showed no such mercy toward the grandson born of Liang’s womb.

“The Crown Prince is still young; he will have more sons in time. That Liang woman was an unfilial wretch, what good could have come out of her belly?”

From his sickbed, Emperor Zhaoning, emaciated, face sunken and eyes dull, moved a trembling finger and said faintly, “Still, royal blood should have a dignified end. Grant them poison wine.”

Thus the so-called Witchcraft Scandal came to its grim conclusion with Crown Princess Liang, Crown Grandson Sima Xuan, and over ten thousand members of the Liang clan executed.

The Crown Prince remained Crown Prince but confined within the Eastern Palace, more like a living corpse than ever before.

Meanwhile, the question of which prince would act as regent split the court into two warring factions.

The struggle grew fiercer by the day, and Pei Xia grew ever busier.

When the first thunder of April cracked through the sky, Shen Yujiao gazed out at the dark, heavy clouds, her chest tight with dread.

Indeed—this was the moment before the storm broke.