Chapter 9
2910words
Lord Marcus. This name had rolled on my tongue for seven years, from sweet to bitter, from warm to cold. I closed my eyes, and scenes from seven years ago floated up—
It was at a poetry gathering by the Qujiang River. He stood under a willow tree wearing a somewhat worn cyan robe, clutching a crumpled poetry manuscript in his hand. Sunlight filtered through the willow leaves, casting delicate spots of light across his face. I thought then, this person is truly beautiful, like someone who stepped out of a painting. Later when he recited his poetry, his voice wasn't loud, yet it made my heart tremble. What I remember most clearly is when he suddenly looked up at me while reciting "When will we meet again in this mutual longing," that single glance contained too many things, which I still haven't figured out to this day.
That night he climbed over the wall to find me. The tiles on the wall rattled loudly beneath his feet. I stood in the courtyard holding a lantern, seeing that his robe hem was covered in mud. He said: "Your Highness, your subject boldly..." Before finishing his words, he knelt down, his forehead touching the tip of my shoe. I reached out to help him up and felt his hand cold with sweat. How simple things were back then—when you liked someone, you just liked them; when you wanted to be together, you simply were.
What happened later? Later we had reverence for simplicity, had power, had suspicions. He began to fear me, and I began to guard against him. Every intimate moment was like a battle, calculating who would be moved first, who would withdraw last. I remember once waking up in the middle of the night to find him watching me with open eyes, his gaze in the moonlight frighteningly cold. I asked what he was thinking, and he said he was thinking about what to say in court tomorrow. I understood then that whatever genuine feelings we had between us had long been pickled in power.
Now he's gone, taking all my secrets with him. I pulled out the list from my sleeve pocket, its edges already frayed from my fidgeting. Every name on this list could be lethal. Lord Marcus knew, and Prince Edward knew too. I suddenly started laughing, and as I laughed I began to cough, coughing until my chest hurt.
"Your Highness?" Spring Peach's voice came from behind the rockery, "Why are you sitting on the ground?"
I wiped my face, only then realizing my palm was completely wet: "It's nothing, just looking at the moon."
The moon was half-covered by clouds, looking like a bitten cake. I supported myself against a pillar as I stood up, my legs feeling like they were being pricked with needles from numbness. The path back to my room wasn't long, yet I walked for a very long time. With each step, I wondered, where is Lord Marcus now? Would he regret it? Would he... have already sold me out?
No lamp was lit in the room, so I sat in the dark before my dressing table. The hazy figure in the bronze mirror looked back at me, as if looking at a stranger. I reached out to touch the mirror, my fingertips meeting the cold surface, suddenly reminding me of Lord Marcus's hands. Those hands had once drawn my eyebrows, fastened my robes, and also handed me poison. Now what would those hands sign? A confession? Or something else that could cost me my life?
I dug out the box at the bottom of my vanity, which contained a small porcelain vial. I got this last year; they said it was instant poison that kills on contact with blood. I unscrewed the stopper and sniffed it—no smell at all. Lord Marcus once said the best poisons are like this, killing invisibly. I laughed at his ominous words back then, but now I'm actually going to use it.
Before I could replace the stopper, footsteps suddenly came from outside. My hand trembled, and I nearly dropped the vial. I knew those footsteps too well—their rhythm and pace—they had followed me for seven years. Lord Marcus. He had returned.
I hurriedly stuffed the vial back, just managing to close the box when the door was pushed open. Moonlight poured in from outside, stretching his shadow long across the floor. I couldn't see his face clearly, only that his shoulders were shaking.
"Why did you come back?" I heard myself ask, my voice half a pitch higher than usual.
He didn't answer, just stood motionless at the doorway. I stood up to walk over, but after just a couple of steps I smelled the scent of blood. Not fresh blood, but the stale, fetid smell of blood that had been trapped in clothing for a long time. My heart sank as I quickly went over and grabbed his sleeve: "Are you hurt?"
Lord Marcus finally looked up. The moonlight illuminated his face, and I almost didn't recognize him. The left side of his face was severely swollen, the corner of his mouth had a split that had already scabbed over. Most frightening were his eyes, bloodshot red, as if he had been crying for a long time. He opened his mouth to speak but could only produce hoarse, breathy sounds.
I pulled him inside, and only when I lit the lamp could I see clearly—his right hand was wrapped in cloth, with blood seeping through. Two of his fingernails were torn up, dark purple and black. I reached out to touch it, but he violently pulled back, the movement so sudden it knocked over a stool.
"Was it Prince Edward who did this?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. Besides the Crown Prince, who would dare harm the Secretary of the Imperial Chancellery?
Lord Marcus shook his head, then nodded, and finally squatted down and hugged his knees, like an injured dog. I had never seen him like this. Even when he was demoted to Lingnan years ago, he came back smiling, even bringing me a string of betel nuts. Now he curled up into a ball, his shoulders trembling, looking at him made my heart ache.
I squatted down to touch his hair and felt cold sweat. The roots of his hair were all wet, as if he'd just been pulled out of water. He suddenly grabbed my wrist with frightening force. I looked down at him and saw that his fingernails were filled with mud, and the skin on his knuckles was scraped raw.
"Your Highness..." he finally spoke, his voice so hoarse it didn't sound like him, "I... I have failed you."
My heart sank, and my hands began to tremble involuntarily. What did he mean? What did he mean by failing me? I forced myself to smile: "What are you saying? Let's treat your wounds first..."
"The list..." he interrupted me, raising his head as tears streamed down his swollen face, carving bloody trails through his wounds, "The list... the Crown Prince knows..."
My mind went "buzz" with a sound, as if someone had struck me over the head with a club. My vision darkened, and all I could hear was a buzzing noise. Lord Marcus was still saying something, but I couldn't hear him anymore. I only saw his mouth opening and closing, like a fish out of water.
I don't know how much time passed before I heard myself ask: "What did you say?"
He nodded, a movement so slight it was almost invisible. Suddenly I felt very cold, as if someone had stripped me naked and thrown me into the snow. Seven years, my partner of seven years, had just sold me out like this? I wanted to laugh, but my lips trembled too much to form a smile.
"Why?" I asked, my voice so faint that even I couldn't hear it.
Lord Marcus cried even harder, tears mixing with blood flowing down to his chin, dripping onto the floor in small puddles. He reached out to tug at my sleeve, but I instinctively moved back. This gesture was like a knife stabbing into his heart; his entire body froze.
"They said..." he spoke brokenly, "said they would kill my entire family... my mother... my younger sister... they're all in Luoyang..." He grabbed the hem of my skirt, his knuckles turning white, "I had no choice... I truly had no choice..."
I looked down at him. Is this man kneeling before me and crying his eyes out the same one who recited poetry by the Qujiang River seven years ago? The same one who climbed over the wall to find me, with mud all over the hem of his clothes? The same one whose hand trembled so much he drew my eyebrows crooked? I suddenly found it absurd, utterly absurd.
"Get up," I heard myself say. "The ground is cold."
Lord Marcus didn't move, still kneeling. I reached out to pull him up, and he clutched my hand like a drowning man grasping at a straw. His palm was sweaty, sticky. I forcefully pulled him up, but he couldn't stand steadily and stumbled against my shoulder. The smell of blood mixed with the salty scent of tears made me dizzy.
"What did they say?" I asked, my voice unnaturally calm, "How did the Crown Prince find out?"
Lord Marcus sobbed and explained the situation haltingly. As it turned out, he had never left Chang'an city, but was intercepted at the East Market. Prince Edward's men were waiting there, like they were waiting for a bird to fly into their net. They took him to a dark room, didn't beat or scold him, but just showed him something—his sister's earrings and his mother's handkerchief.
"I... I couldn't bear it..." he cried with hiccups, "They... they said if I didn't talk before dawn... they... they would..."
He didn't finish what they would do, but I knew. They would kill his entire family, just like they killed Duke Henry back then. I suddenly thought of Chongjian and felt my heart tighten. Would Prince Edward also... No, that's impossible. Chongjian is the Imperial Son-in-law, there's no reason to harm him. But in recent years, haven't we seen enough things happen without reason?
"The list?" I asked, "Did you give it to them?"
Lord Marcus nodded, tears welling up again: "I... I told them everything... Chancellor Thomas... General Richard... and... and..."
I closed my eyes. It's over, completely over. Those people were my last cards, and now they're all exposed on the table. Tomorrow when the sun rises, Chang'an city will run with blood. I looked down at Lord Marcus, who was still crying, crying like a child. I suddenly wanted to hit him, wanted to grab him by the collar and ask him why. But looking at his face swollen beyond recognition, I couldn't raise my hand.
"Stop crying," I said, reaching out to wipe his tears, my fingers touching his wounds, making him inhale sharply in pain, "What use is crying?"
Lord Marcus grabbed my hand and pressed it against his face, his tears flowing all over my hand: "Your Highness... please kill me... I... I have no face to live anymore..."
I looked at him. Kill him? The thought circled in my mind, then slipped away. What use would killing him be? The list has already been handed over. Killing him now would just add another life to the toll. Besides... besides, how could seven years of feelings be cut off so easily?
"Get up," I said again, "Go wash yourself, look at the state you're in."
Lord Marcus shook his head, still kneeling. I sighed and stood up myself to fetch water. The water in the copper basin rippled, reflecting my distorted face. I suddenly remembered that night seven years ago when he knelt just like this and said, "Your servant dares." How good it was then, when the daring was for love, not betrayal.
With the water ready, I crouched down to wipe his face. The blood scabs softened in the water and fell away with each gentle stroke. His eyes remained closed, teardrops still hanging from his eyelashes. I wiped very gently, as if handling a fragile piece of porcelain. When I reached the corner of his mouth, he suddenly grabbed my wrist: "Your Highness... do you hate me?"
Hate? I don't know. I should hate him, but there's more emptiness in my heart. It's like a room that's been emptied out—hating anyone wouldn't help. I shook my head: "I don't hate you."
Lord Marcus opened his eyes, tears welling up again: "Then... do you... do you still trust me?"
I looked at him. Trust? How could I trust him? He had given away my life. But looking into his eyes, I couldn't bring myself to say "I don't trust you." Seven years as bedmates, even if he had become a knife now, he was a knife stabbing into my heart. I sighed: "I trust you. If I don't trust you, who else can I trust?"
Lord Marcus suddenly embraced me, holding me so tightly that I could barely breathe. He smelled of blood, of sweat, and of the incense we had used for seven years. These smells mixed together made my eyes sting. I reached out to embrace him back, feeling protruding bones under my hands. He had lost weight, frighteningly so.
"Sleep," I patted his back, "Tomorrow... we'll talk tomorrow."
Lord Marcus shook his head, his voice so hoarse it was barely audible: "Can't sleep... when I close my eyes... I see them..."
Who were they? Prince Edward? Or his sister? I didn't ask, just pulled him toward the bed. The bedding was still in disarray, just as we had left it in the morning. I had him lie down and covered him with the blanket. He grabbed my hand and wouldn't let go, his fingernails digging into my flesh.
"Don't go..." he whispered, "Don't leave me alone..."
I took off my outer clothes and lay down beside him. The bed was small, and we were squeezed together, like seven years ago when we first got together. How happy we were then, with just a small bed where it was difficult even to turn over. Yet we slept soundly then, straight through till dawn. Now the bed is bigger, the house is bigger, but we can never sleep soundly anymore.
Lord Marcus moved closer to me, resting his head on my shoulder. His breath was hot against my neck, burning hot. I reached out to feel his forehead; it was frighteningly hot. He had a fever, no wonder he kept shivering. I got up to find medicine, but he grabbed my sleeve: "Don't go... please..."
I laid back down, holding him in my arms. He was so thin that his ribs protruded, and every breath he took hurt my hand. I gently patted his back, as if soothing a child: "Sleep... I'm here..."
Lord Marcus gradually calmed down, his breathing slowly becoming steady. I listened to his heartbeat, one after another, abnormally fast. Moonlight seeped through the window crack, illuminating his face, making those wounds look even more frightening. I reached out and lightly touched them; he frowned but didn't wake up.
I couldn't sleep, my mind racing. The list was gone, the plan ruined—what would happen tomorrow? What would Prince Edward do? Would he arrest people first or... I dared not think further. Looking down at Lord Marcus, tears still hung on his eyelashes, glistening in the moonlight. I suddenly remembered that night seven years ago, when he slept just like this, with a smile at the corners of his lips. How wonderful things were back then—we had nothing, yet we had everything.
Now I have everything, yet I have nothing.
Just before dawn, Lord Marcus suddenly woke with a start. He sat up abruptly, gasping for breath, his undergarments soaked with sweat. I reached out to touch him, and he grabbed my hand, his eyes unfocused: "Your Highness... I... I had a dream... dreamed... dreamed of you..."
I embraced him, feeling his whole body trembling: "Dreams are contrary to reality... don't be afraid..."
Lord Marcus shook his head, tears welling up again: "No... it's real... they're here..."
As soon as he finished speaking, the sound of orderly footsteps came from outside. The clinking of armor was particularly jarring in the quiet morning. My heart sank—what was bound to come had finally arrived.
Lord Marcus grabbed my hand, his nails digging into my flesh: "Your Highness... I... I have failed you..."
I gazed at him. The morning sunlight filtered through the window paper, illuminating his haggard face. Seven years—I had looked at this face for seven years, yet now it seemed like that of a stranger. I reached out to touch the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and whispered softly, "I don't blame you..."
Footsteps stopped outside the door. I knew this was the final moment.
