Cheng Qian Gong slowly tightened his thin lips, his handsome, fair face as cold as a drawn sword glinting with chilling light, yet bloodshot veins appeared in his eyes.
Feigning indifference, he lowered his head and chuckled softly, a slight upturn of his lips, his tone icy and detached: "Well said, 'unimportant.' Your Highness, remember what you have said today."
Leaving these words behind, Cheng Qian Gong turned and left. The door was pushed open with considerable force, letting in a gust of cold wind. His posture was straight, his demeanor so heartless, he didn't look back even once.
Shen Yue lowered her gaze, watching the tortoise crawling on the ground.
The tortoise was old and could barely crawl.
—
A great victory on the frontier, General Huo returned to the capital.
Huo Dao, travel-worn, arrived at Cheng Qian Hall. Guards were already waiting to welcome him at the entrance. His aura of decisive command made people instinctively retreat.
In the study, Shen Yue was painting, a picture of red plum blossoms.
The red plums stood proudly on the branches, blooming wantonly, vibrant and dazzling.
Her sleeves were rolled up slightly, revealing long, slender, snow-white fingers, through which the dark green veins were clearly visible.
The window was partially open. Outside, the branches were buried in snowflakes, a scene of pure white.
The room was brightly lit.
Huo Dao stood at the doorway, frost clinging to his eyelashes. His voice was deep and hoarse, "Huo Dao requests an audience."
A muffled voice came from behind the closed door.
"Enter."
Huo Dao walked in, and the door was closed by the guards.
He had come straight to Cheng Qian Hall upon his return to Chang'an City, not even having time to change clothes. His silver armor gleamed with a cold light, and his tall figure exuded an aggressive presence.
His features were more defined, his eyes sharper and brighter, having matured into a ferocious and powerful wolf.
Shen Yue still kept her head lowered, her movements with the brush never ceasing. Her drooping eyelashes were like butterfly wings poised for flight, and her full, vibrant red lips were pressed into a straight line.
A suffocating silence spread.
After an unknown period, Shen Yue finally put down her brush. She then slowly raised her eyes, scrutinizing the man from head to toe. The corners of her eyes curved slightly upward as she uttered an ambiguous remark.
"Not bad."
This "not bad" seemed to encompass much, perhaps even a hint of relief.
Huo Dao remained expressionless, his eyelashes obscuring a fleeting darkness in his eyes.
"Mission accomplished."
Merely for a letter from Shen Yue, he had rushed back. His rugged, deep-set face still bore a few dried bloodstains, his brows and eyes were somber and fierce, carrying a strong scent of blood.
Shen Yue walked around the desk and approached the man.
Taking out a fragrant silk handkerchief, she gently wiped the blood from his face. The blood had already dried, and after wiping, a red mark remained.
Her voice was soft and gentle, "Huo Dao, you have worked hard all these years. You have done very well. Now, I have called you back, and you should understand why."
The Emperor had not much time left. Huo Dao was Shen Yue's right-hand man, a sharp and formidable sword. No matter what countermeasures Shen Yao Jin had left, if necessary, she would force her way into the palace.
This was a last resort.
Huo Dao's back was straight, his stature tall, nearly reaching one meter ninety. He cast a shadow from his commanding height, as if to envelop Shen Yue completely.
Yet, before Shen Yue, he seemed like a docile tiger.
His usually impassive face was inscrutable. His words resonated with power, his thin lips parting slightly, "I understand. I will spare no effort, whatsoever."
This was precisely what Shen Yue wanted to hear.
She had never doubted Huo Dao. A man like a wolf, he had been by her side for years. Moreover, she had personally trained him, investing her efforts, so she naturally trusted him.
However, sometimes, giving one person food and clothing, allowing them to have a second life, did not guarantee that all would repay with gratitude.
In the face of profit and desire, these things meant nothing.
And Huo Dao, he was ambitious. Shen Yue, to him, had always been merely a stepping stone, to be disposed of casually once there was no longer any threat.
Another point was their differing aspirations; Huo Dao harbored far greater ambition than she did.
Shen Yue could win over Huo Dao with a piece of candy, and others could win him over with a slice of cake.
The logic was the same.
And Shen Yue had underestimated a person's greed.
Shen Yue gently lowered her gaze. Her eyelids were thin, tinged with a faint pink, the outer corners curving upward, exuding a seductive beauty.
Her lips pursed slightly, and then she finally spoke softly, "However, there is one person you cannot touch."
His pale, sickly face seemed even more translucent, making his lips appear even more vibrant.
Though there were no significant emotional fluctuations on his face, he exuded an uncomfortable, gloomy aura.
He was in pain.
The man's Adam's apple bobbed. His eyes were dark and dense, devoid of any light.
"Who?"
His hoarse voice seemed to be squeezed from his chest.
Shen Yue did not look at him but turned her head to gaze out the window. It was a vast expanse of white, and the exposed skin had a cold, pale tone.
Her long, slender eyelashes trembled slightly. Her expression was blank, yet seemed to be a blend of artistry: fragile, resigned, weary.
Her voice was soft, like a gentle breeze.
"Cheng Qian Gong."
Even at this juncture, she could not bear to harm Cheng Qian Gong in the slightest. It wasn't lingering affection, but rather a sense of release.
Huo Dao remained silent, his hand covering half his face, his knuckles white from clenching.
Only when Shen Yue's gaze fell upon him did he softly assent, but a deep sense of unwillingness and twisted jealousy surged within him.
Shen Yue pressed her slightly aching forehead and waved her hand, signaling for him to leave.
Huo Dao bowed and retreated. The moment the door closed, half of his face was cast in shadow, obscuring his expressionless profile. His deep-set eyes flickered in the gloom, like a fierce beast that had long been plotting, waiting to tear into its prey.
Shen Yue, meanwhile, was carefully admiring the plum blossom painting on the desk, oblivious to the man's gaze.
—
The Emperor was gravely ill. Everyone was dismissed from the Hall of Mental Cultivation, leaving only Shen Yao Jin inside.
Even Shen Yue stood guard at the entrance. Numerous Ming dynasty officials knelt outside, but Shen Yue stood alone, making her exceptionally conspicuous.
Snowflakes drifted down slowly, piling up thickly on the ground.
The trees were adorned in frost and silver, a layer of pure white ice congealed on the branches, like white jade.
Cheng Qian Gong was among them, wearing a vermilion court robe that further accentuated his refined and handsome features.
After waiting outside for an unknown length of time, the door of the Hall of Mental Cultivation finally opened.
Shen Yao Jin emerged, dressed in black, his figure erect, holding an imperial decree.
His eyes seemed to be glazed with an extremely chilling frost, his face devoid of expression, yet his eyes were slightly reddened, his thin lips tightly pursed: "Your Majesty has passed away."
At that moment, everyone fell silent, followed by an outburst of wailing, heart-wrenching cries, their voices overlapping.