Possessed by madness

After Mingyue finished speaking about Qin Shi, she fell silent, and since she had grown used to this, she thought nothing of it. As for Chuxue, Mingyue had expected her to devise another plan to sneak out, but instead, Chuxue stayed cooped up in her chambers, not even seeking out King Qi. At first, Mingyue did not realize what was happening, but when she caught sight of the painting in Chuxue’s hands, she finally understood: all this time, Chuxue had been painting the Emperor of Que.

Back in the imperial palace of Que, Mingyue had never seen Chuxue paint, nor had she heard her or Zihua mention it, so it never occurred to her to think along those lines. Now, faced with the lifelike image of the man in dark robes on the scroll, Mingyue was momentarily stunned. After all, Chuxue had only seen him once, and that from a great distance, with many people between them.

Nibbling on some pastries in Chuxue’s chamber, Mingyue asked vaguely, “So there really is such a thing as love at first sight in this world?”

“Who can say?” came the reply.

Just then, a sound came from outside the hall. Mingyue, by reflex, stuffed all the remaining pastries into her mouth, only to realize—after nearly choking—that they couldn’t see her anyway, and she could only glare resentfully at Qin Shi. After several cups of tea, Mingyue felt better. Chuxue, too, was flustered, quickly rolling up her painting and hiding it beneath her quilt.

When Zihua entered, Chuxue was already seated at her table, holding the cup Mingyue had just sipped from.

“Princess, the King requests your presence.”

“Must I go?” Chuxue asked.

Zihua looked up, confusion in her eyes. “Princess, are you unwell? I’ve never seen you unwilling to visit His Majesty.”

“Oh, I was just asking. I’ll go right away,” Chuxue replied awkwardly, sneaking a backward glance at the painting hidden in her bedding as she followed Zihua out.

When they arrived at the garden, King Qi was there, along with the man Mingyue had seen before—surely Chuxue’s royal brother. As soon as Chuxue sat down, King Qi gently tousled her hair and smiled. “Why haven’t you come to see your father lately, Chuxue?”

“Hasn’t Father been busy with state affairs? How could I trouble you?” Chuxue replied.

King Qi’s smile faltered. “Are you still angry that I forbade you from leaving the palace last time?”

“Of course not. After all, I am a girl—nearly grown—and can’t cling to Father all day. You and my brother should focus on governing instead.” Chuxue lowered her gaze, her tone careless.

Mingyue noticed King Qi’s eyes darken, wondering if he had guessed the truth.

They lingered a while longer before King Qi sent Chuxue back to her chambers. This time, Chuxue cheerfully agreed.

“If she already has someone in her heart, how can Chuxue restrain herself from seeking him out?” Mingyue wondered aloud. But that very night, Chuxue slipped out through the secret passage once again. With their previous experience, Mingyue and Qin Shi did not follow her but hurried to the nearest palace gate and waited by the doghole.

They arrived just in time to see Chuxue toss the rolled painting through, then crawl out after it.

Clutching the painting, Chuxue hurried to the nearest inn, grabbed the innkeeper, and unfurled the painting. “Have you seen this man?”

The innkeeper shook his head. Chuxue tried several other inns, all to no avail. Her initial excitement gradually faded; after questioning the last inn in town, she was utterly crestfallen. Hugging her scroll, head bowed, she trudged step by step back toward the palace. By then, the streets were nearly empty, and the northern night wind, ever-present, made Chuxue tighten her cloak around her.

Just as she was nearing the palace gate, Mingyue saw a man step in front of Chuxue and heard a voice ask, “I hear you’ve been looking for me?”

Mingyue leaned sideways to see past Chuxue—it was the Emperor of Que himself.

Chuxue, overjoyed, rushed toward him, but he sidestepped her lightly. Mingyue saw him frown and ask, “Who are you?”

Chuxue ignored the question, instead opening her painting for him to see. “Tell me, is my painting any good?”

“Why are you looking for me?” The Emperor of Que pinched the bridge of his nose, allowing Chuxue to hug both the painting and his arm.

“Because I wanted to see you.”

“Do we know each other?”

Chuxue shook her head, but that did nothing to dampen her happiness. “No, but I’ve seen you. And I want to see you again. Please, don’t leave, will you?”

“I can’t stay here forever,” he said quietly.

Chuxue lowered her eyes, but as the Emperor tried to withdraw his arm, she looked up again. “Then tell me where you’ll go, and I’ll come find you, all right?”

“Why?” He regarded her, a trace of confusion in his gaze. “You don’t even know who I am.”

“Because I want to see you. It has nothing to do with who you are.”

He laughed helplessly, shaking his head. He drew the painting from Chuxue’s arms. “Go home. Don’t think of me again—this isn’t right for you.”

“Why not?” Chuxue tilted her head, puzzled.

“Because I’m too complicated.”

Mingyue nodded to herself—at least the Emperor was being honest. But Chuxue was undaunted. “How complicated could you be? Even my father isn’t so complicated.”

“Just remember what I said. And don’t paint me again.” The Emperor gripped the scroll and, with a little force, shredded it into fragments that scattered in the night wind, some drifting far away. Mingyue was surprised to see that Chuxue neither cried nor complained.

Instead, as the Emperor turned away, she grabbed the hem of his robe. “Then why don’t I marry you?”

He halted, turned to look at Chuxue again, and, with rare patience, pried her hand free. “Go home and let your father find someone more suitable for you. Do you know I already have a wife? Perhaps a few others who could be called concubines.”

“...Then can you at least tell me how much longer you’ll stay here?” The light in Chuxue’s eyes finally dimmed.

“Half a month,” the Emperor replied, then turned and walked away. Chuxue stood staring at his tall, straight figure until he had disappeared, then rushed back to the palace and slept until dawn.

Yawning, Mingyue said, “Why do I feel Chuxue isn’t all that dejected? Still, I didn’t expect the Emperor to treat her this way at first. If Chuxue had listened, perhaps she would have spared herself future heartbreak.”

“At this rate, I fear the lady will think of other ways to approach the Emperor. Didn’t you once read her little notebook?” Qin Shi asked.

“How did you know?” Mingyue’s sleepiness vanished, and she stared at Qin Shi in alarm.

Qin Shi met her gaze calmly. “I was following you that day.”

A surge of anger rose in Mingyue’s heart, but one look at Qin Shi’s tranquil eyes, and her raised hand fell powerless to her side. She truly had no way to deal with him. Mingyue then thought of the notebook; it only contained Chuxue’s feelings—her joy and anxieties about the future in the first pages—and no concrete plans.

The next few days, Chuxue locked herself in her chambers, obsessively painting the Emperor of Que—sometimes calm, sometimes smiling, sometimes frowning in resignation, sometimes with brows drawn in sorrow. Chuxue seemed almost possessed.

In just three days, King Qi and the others were gathered outside her chambers. At his command, several guards stepped forward and hacked the door open. Zihua rushed in first, but froze in place at the sight of the countless portraits of the same man scattered everywhere. King Qi and the prince were equally stunned.

Once he recovered, King Qi struck Zihua hard across the face, knocking her to the floor. “Is this how you care for the princess? You let her sneak out of the palace! Someone, drag her out and execute her!”

“No! Father, don’t hurt Zihua—it was I who snuck out, not her,” Chuxue said, jumping in front of them with a painting in hand, smiling recklessly. “Why do you all look like that? Don’t you think my paintings are wonderful?”