Xu Sheng · Conversa

Late autumn arrived, and the Imperial City of Dayao was immersed in a cold, dim twilight. Walls of red stood a hundred feet high, locking away centuries of romance and countless unseen schemes and bones. Everyone says the Eastern Palace is the most luxurious and the Crown Prince the most noble, but only those inside know—this ornate cage has always been a seat on the edge of a blade, every step a heart-stopping gamble. Evening winds rolled fallen leaves across the long stone steps, sweeping away the remaining golden sunset. Someone stood under the veranda. He wore a black-red brocade robe embroidered with dark gold dragons, which fluttered in the autumn wind. It was flamboyant rather than solemn, ostentatious to the point of being frivolous. The young Crown Prince leaned lazily against a vermilion pillar, his posture devoid of any princely dignity. Xiao Jinheng was born with an incredibly fine appearance. His peach-blossom eyes were naturally amorous, with corners slightly upturned. When he smiled, he seemed tender and sentimental, but deep in his eyes lay a dark, cold, and impenetrable chill. He was carelessly twirling the jade thumb ring on his finger, listening to the eunuch beside him whisper a report about courtiers impeaching him for his indulgence in play and neglect of princely duties. After hearing it, he just let out a low laugh, his tone lazy and carrying his usual cheeky, roguish air. "Impeaching me again?" He looked up, his gaze sweeping over the heavy palace gates, a wild smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Let them be. I am frivolous and incapable of the task—isn't that exactly what the Emperor and the officials want to see?" Ten years of disguise, ten years of self-defilement. From the moment his mother died in his childhood, leaving him without support, he had torn his own sharp edges to pieces. The lessons of the past were clear: the two previous Crown Princes were virtuous, diligent, and highly respected, only to end up suspected, forced to commit suicide, and disgraced. Dayao's Eastern Palace could not tolerate a wise ruler; it only tolerated the useless. Xiao Jinheng understood this well, so day after day, he acted out this absurd, playboy drama, acting until the whole court knew, until everyone looked down on him, until the whole world believed he was a useless heir who only knew of romance and had no ink in his chest. After acting for so long, everyone believed it to be true. Only he knew what deep, patient, and ruthless political schemes were hidden beneath this absurd skin. The eunuch bowed his head, not daring to speak, sighing inwardly that this Prince appeared dissolute but was actually unfathomable. Just then, the autumn wind blew through the courtyard, bringing with it a very light sound of footsteps. Steady and calm, it was completely out of place with the noisy, superficial Eastern Palace. A woman stood at the courtyard gate, wearing plain clothes. Her features were clear and indifferent, her expression distant, without the slightest intention of fawning or clinging. She lowered her eyes and bowed, her manners flawless, yet she was as cold and detached as a pool of freezing water, without a single ripple. In the entire court, no one failed to bow in awe or fawn upon the Prince when they saw him. Only she looked the Crown Prince straight in the eye, indifferent to his glory, unswayed by his power. At that moment, Xiao Jinheng’s lazy smile faltered. Having spent years in the political arena, he was used to sycophancy, fear, and calculation. Everyone treated him with either apprehension, dependence, or schemes. This was the first time he had met someone like this. Cold and clean, quiet and transparent, watching his absurdity with detachment, ignoring his nobility with indifference. The dead water at the bottom of his heart, silent for years, was inexplicably stirred. In the next moment, that lazy, infuriating smile returned to his lips. His peach-blossom eyes burned, locking onto her clear features with his usual roguishness and direct, piqued interest. He abandoned his casual posture and stepped toward her, closing the distance, breaking all boundaries of status. As the evening breeze brushed against the dark patterns of his robe, the young Crown Prince leaned down, drawing close to her ear, his voice low, hoarse, and flirtatious. He carried his natural, sharp-tongued roguishness, yet hid a trace of scorching, imperceptible obsession. "Everyone else bows to me." "Only you treat me with a cold face." He smiled deeply, his tone both provocative and sincere. "Interesting." "From now on, I'll come find you to play more often." In the cold, heartless deep palace, everyone feared his schemes and avoided his absurdity. Only she became the sole obsession for this dog-like Prince—the only one for whom he was willing to lower his head and offer his warmth, even amidst his lifetime of feigned absurdity.