Would you rather be the moon or a star?

Night on the Grassland

The night itself always brings a sense of tranquil serenity, and now, with Yue’er and Zhao Chengxian returning together to the grassland where they last rode horses, the peace here let one's true self emerge. Yue’er rode slowly, the excitement of last time entirely absent. She wondered if this might be her last ride; once inside the palace, life would be as unfathomable as the sea. Not only would there be no more riding, but every word and deed would require the utmost caution. A faint melancholy settled in her heart.

Yue’er dismounted and walked across the grass, and Zhao Chengxian did the same, staying by her side. Watching her walk in silence, he tried to swallow his pain and said softly, “You know, sometimes losing a horse turns out to be a blessing. Perhaps happiness is waiting for you ahead. At least the Emperor treats you well—he even arranged for me to become a guard for your sake. If he were truly just a guard and wanted you to marry him, would you agree?” He only hoped Yue’er could find some happiness, and perhaps Xuanyuan Ren really was her destined one. Urging the person you love to care for someone else was a bitter pill to swallow, but for Yue’er’s sake, he forced himself to say it. It wasn’t that he dared not compete with Xuanyuan Ren, but for the sake of the Prince’s Manor and the Hui family security bureau, Zhao Chengxian could not risk everything.

Yue’er shook her head. “I’ve never thought about it. I only regard him as a brother; there’s no romantic feeling between us. He’s a good person, but I never imagined he’d want to marry me. I think it’s just a passing fancy—everyone in the palace bows to his every wish, so I suppose he’s interested in the one person who dares to scold him. I’m sure there are plenty of women he’s interested in—at least a dozen, if not more. I’m just one among many, am I not?” Here, Yue’er let down all her guard.

Zhao Chengxian looked at her in surprise, not expecting Yue’er to see things so clearly. Her question left him speechless. Indeed, Xuanyuan Ren could never love just one person wholeheartedly, and his affection could easily become a blade, one that might kill the object of his love. Zhao Chengxian didn’t know how to persuade Yue’er to enter the palace with a light heart—deep down, he too didn’t want her to go. He looked up at the bright moon and stars and asked, “Little Crescent, would you rather be a star or the moon?” Since he could not change the fate awaiting her tomorrow, at least tonight, he wished to let her relax.

Yue’er gazed up at the night sky, pondering for a long time before she replied, “A star. Being the moon is too lonely, up high and cold. But stars have so many companions to share their happiness—how lovely that must be.” Sitting on the grass, lost in thought, she continued, “When I was little, I used to cry a lot. Every time I cried, my father would tell me a story about the stars. I still remember, when he was dying, he told me that no one would tell me stories anymore, and begged me not to cry so much. After he died, I never cried again.” As she spoke, tears unknowingly slid down her cheeks.

Zhao Chengxian sat down beside her, letting her lean softly against his shoulder, silently accompanying her. The two hearts drew quietly closer. After a long while, he finally spoke. “I’d like to be a star too. But I’ve always hoped there might be a girl who could be the one and only moon in my heart.” For lovers, nothing is more poetic than sharing feelings beneath the moon and flowers.

In an uncharacteristically gentle voice, Yue’er asked, “So which of your three wives is your moon?” Something unnameable was growing between them, but tomorrow they would part—perhaps longing would make this feeling even clearer.

Zhao Chengxian shook his head and smiled. “I’m still searching. None of them are the moon in my heart. I didn’t choose to marry them—those were political alliances. I could not give the girl I truly like something unique, but my heart and the title of Princess will always be reserved for her.” After all, marriages among noble families were hardly ever a matter of personal choice. Zhao Chengxian looked from the night sky to Yue’er and, with a roguish grin, said, “Your name even has the word ‘moon’ in it. Perhaps you really are the moon I’m looking for!” He even threw her a playful wink.

Yue’er blushed, quickly straightening up to hide her shyness, and lowered her head. “There are plenty of girls with ‘moon’ in their names—does that mean they’re all your moon?” If it were daytime, her face would surely be as red as an apple. If the brothers from the security bureau saw their bold and fearless chief in such a state, they’d be utterly shocked.

Zhao Chengxian continued to tease her. “Sure, lots of girls have ‘moon’ in their names, but you’re the only one I know. Isn’t that fate?” At last, he saw a different side of Yue’er—the one who was always so strong before others, now showing her gentle, feminine side. It was a rare sight; in truth, Yue’er was quite adorable.

Yue’er, embarrassed and annoyed, suddenly lifted her hand to hit Zhao Chengxian. He caught her hand and said, “Right now, I can’t make any promises. But the day you leave the palace, I promise I won’t let go again.” He released her hand, and Yue’er smiled, understanding his meaning. Zhao Chengxian had given her the freedom to choose, and so, no matter whom she chose in the future, he would accept it.

Ladies and gentlemen, young and old, and all those in between, hurry and shower me with gold medals, red envelopes, and gifts! Don’t hold back—let the storm come in all its fury!