Side Story Two: When the Bright Moon Shone, It Once Illuminated the Return of the Colorful Clouds. (1)

In the late autumn of the sixth year of Taihe, the Retired Emperor passed away in front of Mingguang Palace. I went to see him one last time.

In truth, I did not understand why he wanted to see me. Was it out of guilt toward the Nangong family, of which I was the head? Or did he see me as a kindred spirit?

A lifetime spent seeking power and profit, an emotionless egoist.

The Nangong family was the foremost of the northern aristocracy, a lineage so illustrious and resplendent that even within it, a child like me—born of a concubine—could exist.

My father was the second son of the Nangong family, handsome and gifted beyond compare.

My mother was merely the daughter of a declining household; though they were a match made in talent and beauty, their families were mismatched in status.

The Retired Emperor lay on his sickbed and asked me if I held deep hatred for the Nangong family.

I no longer concealed my feelings and replied, “Yes. I returned to the Nangong family to avenge my mother.”

At six years old, I witnessed my mother, gaunt and frail, burn alive in a raging fire. She was the only kin I had in this world.

At sixteen, I returned to the Nangong family to acknowledge my ancestry and my place. Ten years later, at twenty-six, I inherited the title and was made Duke of Ningdu.

For a full decade, I was scorned behind my back as a lowly illegitimate child, cursed to perish far from home.

I knew it all but merely smiled faintly. Words could not wound me; what I sought was a position exalted above all.

The world often remarked that the Retired Emperor favored Consort Nangong as his lifelong love, thus showing leniency to the Nangong family.

But I knew the truth.

It was but the emperor’s superficial brilliance, a mirage of favor—visible yet untouchable.

My ascent to head of the Nangong family was thanks to the Retired Emperor clearing the obstacles before me.

The sudden fall of the Nangong family’s legitimate eldest grandson, the lingering illness of the second son, and the foolishness of the third son—indeed, ever since my return, the third son became the fourth.

Whether the fifth son of Princess Roujia was the Retired Emperor’s doing, I did not know. Ultimately, only I proved the suitable heir.

People marveled at the Retired Emperor’s favor toward the Nangong family, but I inwardly laughed bitterly.

An empty shell—what was there to envy?

Consort Nangong was foolish to believe the Retired Emperor truly loved her, delighting in the peonies of Lanchi Palace.

I devoted myself wholly to the affairs of the Nangong family, attending personally to every matter. Thus, my status within the clan rose steadily. Coupled with the special regard of the Retired Emperor and Consort Nangong, those beneath me grew all the more fearful.

Had it not been for that incident, my plan would have been to diligently pave the way for the Crown Prince, the eldest son of Consort Nangong, who bore half the Nangong blood.

But the Crown Prince’s relationship with the Emperor was strained beyond repair.

That year, I went on official business to Liaodong for half a year. Upon returning to the imperial city, I met the new Crown Princess, the third daughter of the Xu family from Jiangdong.

Seven years apart, she blossomed like a lotus emerging from the water, radiant and fresh. Seeing the gentle warmth between her brows and the question in her eyes, I felt a pang of disappointment. Had she truly forgotten me in these seven years?

From then on, I changed my ambitions. When asked by my trusted aides why I would forsake helping the Crown Prince in favor of aiding the heir apparent, I answered simply:

Because if, at the moment I abandoned my mother’s name to return to the Nangong family and seek power, there was still one person worthy of my concern, it was the Xu family’s third daughter.

I thought she distrusted me because she wished to be loyal to her husband. Later, I realized she distrusted me because she was not herself.

The Yongyi Emperor once said the Crown Princess’s calligraphy was slender and strong like pine and bamboo, sharp as a golden blade, and I had politely agreed.

But as I left Deqing Hall, a sudden downpour darkened the sky, matching the gloom in my heart. I returned personally to Zhanghua.

As I had expected, but by then, I had no way back.

The world said the Crown Prince did not love the Crown Princess, yet when the Xu Crown Princess disappeared near Zhaoguan Mountain, I accompanied the Yongyi Emperor for over half a month, searching the mountain and digging the earth. I watched him grow thinner and gloomier day by day.

I could not help but ask: Did he truly never care for the Xu Crown Princess?

Even before I revealed to him that the Xu family woman was actually Pei Zhaojin, he still held the third Miss Xu in his heart.

But the Crown Prince was pitiable. Whenever he seemed about to gain something, he would lose something in return.

He was not like the Yongyi Emperor, who pursued a single goal throughout his life and scorned what he did not have.

What the Yongyi Emperor obtained effortlessly, the Crown Prince sought in vain and repeatedly lost.

He was more pitiable than I.

Moreover, the chaos and mess left by the Yongyi Emperor all fell to the heir to resolve.

In a few short years, the northern aristocratic clans shifted, and the imperial brothers quarreled among themselves. The aged Yongyi Emperor could no longer control the turmoil, leaving it all to the Crown Prince.

He grew ever more sullen, worse than when we reclaimed the three prefectures in Liaodong. For days on end, his face betrayed no expression.

I knew half of this was due to the overwhelming burden of state affairs, and the other half was the grief for his deceased wife.

After Fu Lancheng ascended the throne smoothly, I too secured my position as Duke of Ningdu.

He trusted me more and more, consulting me on many matters of state and military.

Court officials believed that under my leadership, the Nangong family would rise again and stand firm in the imperial court.

But before I left for the far north of Liaodong, I went to bid farewell to Lady Jinghong.

I knew she harbored unresolved feelings, so I deliberately asked if she wished to accompany me to the snowy north.

She paused for a long while, then smiled and wished me a safe journey.

I knew then she had made her choice.

I had grown up in the south, wandering through many hardships, fearing hunger and cold, loathing dampness and darkness. I thought I could never adapt to the vast snowfields.

Yet after guarding Yun’er City for six years, save for the initial cold, I came to love this place.

Mount Cuolan lay blanketed in snow year-round, flakes drifting endlessly. The howling long winds swept through towering gorges to my tent, carrying the heavenly aura of the mountain’s peak.

My restless heart was cleansed by these sacred snows.

I decided to make this my long-term home.

In the sixth year of Taihe, I suddenly received an imperial edict from Guangling—the Retired Emperor was gravely ill and urgently summoned me to the palace for one last meeting.

Within Mingguang Palace, he spoke much before lamenting how the years of confinement in the deep palace had buried his spirit, how imperial power had clouded his vision, and that the once noble Prince Yi was not such a selfish man.

He said, “Imperial power wronged me, and I wronged imperial power—a fleeting dream of a deer.”

I smiled inwardly and thought, “Your Majesty, did you ever truly possess such nobility?”

But I did not say it aloud; his hair was fully white and half of his body already buried in the earth—I had no need to anger him to death.

That would make things difficult for the new emperor and empress.

Upon returning from Liaodong, I resigned from all my posts, including the Duke of Ningdu title I had fought for over ten years.

No one understood, but my mind was made.

Empress Pei personally brought Princess Yongchen to the Nangong household to see me off.

I had never cared for children before, seeing them as burdens. But the little princess, carved like a delicate jade figure, was utterly adorable. I took a liking to her.

They all urged me to reconsider. The Empress said, “The mountains and rivers are vast, and the bright pearl is far from the dust.” She thought it a fine choice.

I smiled warmly, “Thank you, Your Majesty, for your understanding.”

She returned my smile gently, “Come back often to see the children.”

That was the last time I saw her.