Chapter 130: Life Is Bound to Have Its Fools for Love (Part I)

After leaving the Quiet Garden of the Yun residence, Nie Peixiao felt dazed, barely aware of how he had made his way back to the Mu Prince’s Mansion. Ever since he discovered that the person playing the zither was not Yun Xiangrong, he had spent every night outside the rear wall of the Yun residence, hoping to catch that soul-stirring melody once more.

After many nights of waiting, he finally heard it again tonight. At the very instant the melody began, he felt certain that the player was the woman who had captivated his heart. Unable to restrain himself, he drew his jade flute and joined in, hoping to express his deep admiration through their harmonious duet.

But as the final notes faded, the garden fell silent. Overcome by a longing and curiosity that had built up for days, he leapt over the wall into the Quiet Garden, subdued several guards with the help of his attendant, Feng Fei, and ventured inside to catch a glimpse of the mysterious musician.

Donning a pre-prepared golden mask, he followed the flickering lights until he saw a figure who looked like a fairy—clad in white as pure as snow, otherworldly and transcendent—seated before a zither, speaking to another person.

He approached slowly, not wanting to startle the beauty. Concealed in the shadows, he held his breath, confident that even a master of the age would not easily detect him. He did indeed deceive the female guard, but he overheard a conversation that left him utterly shocked:

"Zhuyang, please escort Miss Mu Ge back to Qingyin Pavilion! I will return to Zhiyan Pavilion myself."

"The Yun residence is sparsely populated now; there is no one left who can conspire against me. Are you still worried that something might happen to me on the way? Go quickly! Do not let the Second Young Lady catch a chill."

Since this woman in white addressed the other as "Second Young Lady," she clearly was not Yun Muge. Nie Peixiao could not help but draw closer, instantly recognizing the exquisite woman he had once glimpsed on the day of Yun Ci’s grand wedding.

He had initially assumed she was a favored maid of the Yun family. Little did he expect that the subsequent conversation would cause his heart to plummet into an abyss.

"Does your Excellency know where this place is?"

"I am a widow, playing the zither by chance to soothe my spirit. Since you have seen my face, I ask you to leave immediately."

"As for tonight's events, I hope you will act as though you have seen nothing. Farewell."

"Did your Excellency lose a jade flute? Please inform me of your residence, and I shall send someone to return it tomorrow."

...

This woman in white was Lady Chuxiu—the matriarch of the House of Marquis Lixin, the legendary widow who was said to be ruthless, cold-blooded, and devious, having risen to power on the strength of her posthumous child! She was the very widow he had once deeply despised and scorned! A widow he had vowed to keep at a distance, wanting no entanglement with her whatsoever!

She had indeed found his jade flute, and she had indeed fulfilled this connection, but it was... so absurd!

How could he believe it! How could he accept it! How could he move on! Upon returning to the Mu Prince’s Mansion, Nie Peixiao stormed into the cellar without a word, broke the seals on several jars of his seventh brother’s private reserve, and drank himself into a stupor.

Given his tolerance, he had not been truly drunk in a long time, but this time, he drank willingly. Perhaps he no longer wished to wake, no longer wished to face the truth.

Such a beautiful woman... Had he not seen her face, had he not spoken to her, he would have remained merely an admirer—admiring her musical heart and the profound, silent resonance of their souls.

But the moment he saw her true face, the moment he heard her gentle tone as she chatted with her guard, he recognized her and recalled the stunning impression of their first meeting.

In a flash, it felt like an eternity. Nie Peixiao suddenly felt as if he had known this woman for a long time, as if their souls had been intertwined through countless cycles of reincarnation. Her every word, every gesture, and every smile matched the shadow in his heart so perfectly!

A surge of heartbeat he had never felt before left him breathless, almost... losing his composure.

Having finally suppressed that ecstasy, hoping to confirm her identity, he never expected... this outcome, this cruel truth.

Perhaps he had truly matured. In the past, he had wandered through fields of flowers seeking excitement, finding pleasure in the hollow flattery of others, and stubbornly insisting on his so-called royal pride. Yet, in the end, he was left with nothing, empty-handed, and his heart felt increasingly hollow.

For the first time in twenty-one years, he had fallen for a woman. It was a feeling more overwhelming and joyful than when he had heard Hanchu’s zither years ago, and also, far more regretful and desperate.

Nie Peixiao wanted to laugh, but as he did, he felt only bitterness. In the end, he didn't know how many jars he had finished or what he had mixed together, but he was drunk—for the first time, he collapsed in the cellar without a care, unable to console his own absurd and irrational heart.

If he had known the result would be so desperate, he would rather have never had hope at all. If he had known it would be this painful... he would have preferred to forever believe that the woman playing the zither was Yun Xiangrong...

As he drifted into unconsciousness, a flash of light crossed the dim cellar—the golden mask from his robes had fallen out. Nie Peixiao reached out, picked it up, and applied pressure. A sharp, crisp sound of metal shattering rang out, and the thin-as-a-cicada’s-wing golden mask broke into two pieces.

Just like the zither that the woman in white had accidentally dropped and cracked that night...

*****

His mind was heavy, and the throbbing in his chest made it difficult for Nie Peixiao to sleep. It felt as though a soft object had been embedded in his heart, pressing, digging, aching, and agonizing.

He dreamt, and the dream was filled with that exquisite face, shimmering under the fading lamps, sometimes calm and dignified, sometimes smiling like a flower, sometimes panicked, sometimes cool and courteous...

"The Yun residence is sparsely populated now; there is no one left who can conspire against me. Are you still worried that something might happen to me on the way?..."

The words Lady Chuxiu had spoken were seared into Nie Peixiao’s mind. Linking them to the rumors of the Yun family’s secrets, he could almost imagine the persecution this woman had endured and the pressure she had resisted.

Even in his dreams, his heart ached for her. A beautiful nineteen-year-old widow—if she were anyone else’s widow, it might be one thing, but Lady Chuxiu was the widow of the Marquis Lixin. This status alone separated them by a vast chasm. Forget being soulmates; even a simple, open association seemed impossible.

The next day, when he awoke, Nie Peixiao was on the couch in his own room. The exhaustion of his hangover and the needle-like headache made it difficult to rise. Recalling the name "Lady Chuxiu," he felt as if last night had been a nightmare.

Had he dreamt it only because he was too preoccupied, too obsessive, and too distressed?

Nie Peixiao rose slowly, about to call for Feng Fei, when his eyes caught the two broken pieces of the mask on the table. With that single glance, the feeling of the night before returned... It was not a dream! All of it was real...

In that instant, Nie Peixiao made a decision—to leave Fuzhou as quickly as possible! From this day forward, he would have no more dealings with the Yun family!

"Feng Fei," he called to his attendant with a hoarse voice.

"Your Highness." Feng Fei entered, followed by several maids who began to serve their master.

After rising and dressing, Nie Peixiao grabbed the teapot on the table without a word and downed the cold tea in one breath. Only then did the burning thirst in his throat subside. He asked Feng Fei, "Where is the Seventh Brother now?"

Feng Fei hesitated for a moment before answering truthfully, "His Highness, Prince Mu, is currently in the reception hall, meeting with... Lady Chuxiu."

With a loud clatter, Nie Peixiao set down his glass teacup. He remained silent for a moment, his expression grim, before saying, "Help me change again..."

*****

Mu Prince’s Mansion, reception hall.

"My Lady wishes to go to Jingzhou personally?" Prince Mu looked at Chuxiu, raising an eyebrow.

Chuxiu nodded. "The affairs of my Third Uncle and the young Marquis Shen depend entirely on your Highness's arrangements. This morning, I received word via carrier pigeon that my Third Uncle has been released safely, and Xiangrong and the young Marquis have also moved out of the Marquis Wenchang residence..."

Chuxiu paused, then added, "I wish to go and see them, to help them settle in. Especially since my Third Uncle has long managed business in Jingzhou, I would like to take this opportunity to visit some of the noble clans and formally make their acquaintance."

Hearing this, Prince Mu could not help but smile. "With the reputation and status of the Yun family, why must you visit them yourself, My Lady? It should be they who come to visit you."

"Your Highness, please do not mock me." Chuxiu lowered her eyes and sighed helplessly. "Jingzhou is at the feet of the Emperor, and the noble families there are accustomed to opulence... The Yun family is not what it once was; in the future, I will still need to rely on your Highness." Lowering her head at the right moment was to ensure she could raise it later; on this point, Chuxiu finally saw clearly.

Her words were well-received by Prince Mu, who smiled enigmatically and replied with his hands behind his back, "It is you who mock me, My Lady. Outsiders may not know the foundations and strength of the Yun family, but I know them very well. In the future, when I rule over the landscape of Nanxi, if you, My Lady, stand by and watch, I fear my Nanxi will remain desolate for a long time."

After all, industries critical to the people's livelihood—grain, oil, cotton, textiles, shipping, and banking—were mostly controlled by the Yun family. Not to mention the Yun family possessed a secret army—the Yun shadow guards, raised for hundreds of years. Prince Mu questioned if even he could fathom the size or the strength of this organization, and he suspected that perhaps even Lady Chuxiu had not fully grasped it herself.

Unfortunately, with the North and South in turmoil, Prince Mu had no time to deal with the Yun family. He could only appease this preeminent family of the North and South; he could not uproot them, nor could he do so thoroughly. Setting aside the effort it would take to eliminate the Yun family, the consequences of such a risky move were beyond his prediction:

He would bear the reputation of being ungrateful, the old people of Great Xi would not stand idly by, the economic lifelines across the land would collapse, and the Yun shadow guards would rise in rebellion... Most importantly, the Yun family had been philanthropic for centuries and held high prestige among the common people. If the Nanxi royal family were to truly tear off the mask and confront them, Prince Mu could not be certain whom the people of the world would support...

The Yun family’s submissiveness now was merely to exchange for future glory, while Prince Mu’s friendliness was to ensure the stability of his reign.

Thoughts turned over in his mind, but Prince Mu remained composed. He asked Chuxiu, "When do you plan to set off for Jingzhou? I would like to see you off."

"Your Highness is too kind, I..."

Before Chuxiu could finish, the butler announced from outside, "Your Highness, Lady Chuxiu, the Prince of Cheng has arrived."

"Let him in." Prince Mu turned back to Chuxiu. "My ninth brother, you have not formally met him yet. There is no time like the present; it would be good to meet him today."

"Your Highness..." Chuxiu looked troubled. Prince Mu clearly knew she was Hanchu and knew that the Ninth Prince had once written "The Broken Red Strings." To meet the Ninth Prince in front of him now was truly awkward.

As Chuxiu was thinking this, a tall, upright figure strode in with grace—it was indeed the Ninth Prince of Nanxi, the Prince of Cheng, Nie Peixiao.