Title: The Jade Princess

Genre: Romance, Historical Drama

Ratings: All ages

Part: Five/Seven

//

Spring. April 13, 657.

Jiaheng feels like he’s drenched in blood.

The silky satin robe that he carelessly drapes over his bare shoulders feels like blood trickling down his skin, marking his guilt. He winces, and his nose is filled with the pungent stench of remorse. All his senses are hiked – he sees blood, he smells blood, he feels blood, he can even taste blood at the contours of his lips; yet in reality, there is no blood to be seen.

Instead, his eyes latch upon the maiden sleeping on his bed, covered by the heavy quilts. She is obscured by sleep, drifting in the floating clouds of her dreams. White, fluffy, soft; he imagines her to be contentedly slipped into the bliss of conjured pretenses. She paints an image of innocence, of hopes and dreams, of silky butterflies and blithe smiles, and he tries not to remind himself that he’s destroyed her naiveté, their naiveté.

What had riveted through their minds, Jiaheng cannot remember. He recalls his impulsive ramblings, her sweet coercions and somewhere along those lines the vivid image of them impetuously jumping to a base they shouldn’t have jumped to appears in his mind. He remembers the ardency most, fervent kisses and fervid touches- it’s all so tangible. Except that the absolute truth says otherwise – it is all just surreal.

Jiaheng knows what he has done. He has brought life to his delusions, conjuring a scenario of which there’s someone who wholeheartedly cares for him, understands him and maybe even loves him. But whether that is all a delusion or not, the true delusion still is that Qian is not Yoona, and Yoona is not Qian. And what Qian does feel for him will not be taken into account for she is not the Shilla princess, she is not the Crown Prince’s mother, and worse of all she is not the love of his life. 

His delusions existed to quell his desires, or so he used to think. Many a time he would wish for those delusions to be a part of reality, reality which had been too intoxicated by despair. So he put his hopes on Qian, hoping against hope. But he is left hanging precariously on a thin thread, and the moment he falls, the entire world will fall.

He levels his gaze on Qian and an internal tug-of-war begins within him – his wife or his supposed lover? A title is fitting, a concubine probably, but he can predict the aftermath; it will be a morbid execution and she will be lucky if the only part of her body detached from her is her head. Yoona is capable of watching humans being mutilated without flinching; when abhorrence contains her, all emotions are dispensable. For all he knows, the next morning he opens his eyes will be the morning that he sees another faultless woman prey to the serrated teeth of greed, power and malice.

Infidelity is not his option. What the heart feels and what the body does are related yet barely related, and it depends whether one decides to separate them or not. They can be detached into split bisections then dealt with discordantly. Jiaheng has created a delusion, and as implausible as it might be, he might as well live in it. He is not succumbing to infidelity; his heart is with Yoona and his body, like it always has been, is with someone else and that does not necessarily have to be his fault, his issue-

Jiaheng doesn’t think the bloodstains will ever disappear.

//

Spring. April 20, 657.

“What are you doing?” Inquisitively, Yoona peeks over the scrolls set atop the table in the pavilion. Her smile falters and a frown curves at her lips; she then plops back to her seat with her arms folded and childish discontentment written on her face. “Working.” A single word explains it all. “I summoned you to entertain me and you have the nerve to bring your work along. Xi Luhan, your audacity never wavers.”

He chuckles whimsically, “I didn’t come to entertain you, Your Highness. I came because I had a feeling you have some emotions you wish to vent out; and I suppose it is better my ears become your victim rather than to have another innocent head doomed to the executioner’s axe.”

“I hate your sarcasm, have I mentioned that before?” She wrinkles her nose distastefully, and Luhan thinks she resembles a petulant little child. “You irritate me,” she huffs.

“Then don’t summon me.”

She knits her brows, “It is your fault for coming.”

“Sure, blame the one who kindly offered to help you settle your mental problems.”

“Go away.”

“Gladly.”

He rises, purposefully attempting to mock her; her arm shoots out and encircles his wrist, tugging him down. He falls, plopping right next to her and he gives her a teasing smile, which she returns with narrowed eyes. “Do not act coy, Luhan. It is sickening. You make me feel repulsed.” She does not outwardly admit defeat, but Luhan reads between the lines.

“I wasn’t going to leave,” he tells her and she is seemingly close to clouting him. He gazes into her eyes for awhile, but he retracts his wrist from her hands. They are unbecomingly close and there are prying eyes which would gladly take advantage of what was merely accidental intimacy. He considerately shifts away, picking up his brush and resuming his work. “I can accompany you, Your Highness. Work is a top priority, however; I uphold the family’s honor, after all.”

She leans backward without complaint. Her petulant expression fades into one that is serene, tactfully composed. Luhan absentmindedly realizes another surprisingly positive quality of the empress’s – she is strangely complaisant and considerate when she wants to be, with no lack of self-control either. He watches her from the corner of his eye, and unknowingly, admiration lights like little sparks.

“You must be the eldest of the family,” she remarks.

His attention completely diverts away from his work. “What?”

“The eldest of your family,” she repeats herself calmly. “You must be the eldest. It is the eldest who is usually entrusted with the task of upholding family honor.”

“The only child, actually. You could say I’m the eldest, I guess.”

“An only child? What is it like to be an only child?”

He shrugs his shoulders, “It’s alright, I suppose. It gets lonely every now and then, especially when you watch all the others frisk away with their siblings. Friends last for the day but not the night. When the sun sets, I’m left to my room. I guess that was when the habit of studying came along – there never was anyone to distract me at night.”

“Your parents?”

“My parents were always off to do business,” he recounts. “They own a paper business, so they’d have to venture out of town often. There are merchants who are pretty demanding and they don’t always get the raw materials easily. So they’d leave me to take care of the house, along with the other servants.”

“And then you studied?”

“I did. Read books like that was all I ever lived for. I read, took notes, and sometimes I analyzed the written pieces on my own. The teachers came and left – they got pretty irritated by the way I never really listened,” he admits guiltily, and she nudges him like she’s won a triumph. He chortles softly and continues, “But being smart makes you feel stupid – no one understands you anyway.”

She laughs amusedly, “I assumed you would acknowledge the unreachable height of your intelligence. You are dexterous, and I will not deny that, but you learn from yourself and only yourself. It does not take much for a person to guess that you were never really connected with your mentors,” she guesses. His eyes glimmer and she knows that she’s hit the bull’s-eye. “You would reach out to your peers, I suppose. Whether they have your level of understanding or not, you could always make them understand.”

“I did,” he nods, and mirthful smile plays at his lips. “Minseok, Jongin and Sehun – the four of us were pretty close. Minseok and Sehun left for the palace, and Jongin soon followed in their footsteps. My daily occupation was drinking wine. Became a drunkard, nurtured a hole in my pocket and earned myself infamy for being a useless scholar. Hardly had any righteous morals to my name.”

“And you came here to avenge for the half of your lot whose lives I destroyed or had control over,” she assumes, and she subconsciously stiffens. “A nice way to retaliate, Luhan – to continuously drag out the matters of the past and immerse me in the blood of the people I wrecked.”

His gaze averts to her, “If I begrudge you for it, Your Highness, I would not even be here.” His expression softens, and he stares at his palms for a moment before looking back at her. “I’ve misunderstood you for too long to have the liberty to begrudge you for what you’ve done.”

Warmth billows from the pit of her stomach and she fists the hems of her sleeves to restrain her emotions, the fleeting questions that threaten to spill out of her. “Misunderstand… me?” She pauses, her unwavering eyes fixating themselves on him. “You want to comprehend me?” She limits herself to one question, unsure of what lay behind his suddenly altruistic demeanor.

“Do you want me to comprehend you?”

“I…” When he prompts her, she knows that she has no choice but to comply. Underneath that sturdy façade of hers is the yearning to unleash the appalling story of her past. “My mother was a court lady,” she begins, and he leans forward to listen to her. “She was a beautiful one, at that. My father fell for her after she waited on him, and eventually I was conceived. Beauty comes with danger, however. My mother was not tenacious, neither was she replaceable. She was easily overthrown by the other concubines. They plotted against her and had her tortured, stripped of her title, then executed… And I watched it all.”

Luhan feels a sickening squelch at the pit of his stomach, and he’s this close to wrapping his arms around her. He is not a sympathetic person and he detests skin contact, but all barriers are brutally damaged in the face of her pain. But he dauntlessly listens; he lets her continue.

“They threw me into prison and I remember not even shedding a tear – there were no tears I could shed. A year I was kept in prison at the young age of four, before my father sympathized with me and brought in Crown Prince Jiaheng – now the Emperor of Tang. He expected me to play him, and I did. It was humiliating then, so humiliating; but my father withdrew me from prison. He taught me about the palace politics and threw me to face the rest of his children, to face the rest of the world like the mockery I was supposed to be. And they made it clear, they made it clear that I was nothing more than a joke. Oh lord, the only person who was not laughing was me! A bloody sob story that I tell, really – I suppose you must find it hilarious!”

But Luhan doesn’t laugh. “It is hardly funny, Your Highness.”

“I fought hard for eight more years before I was sent to Chang’an. Why I was the one being sent away, I never really understood, but I accepted it, nevertheless. I became a crown princess and I was treated like one. I became an empress and was treated like one. I gave birth to Wenrui and the entire imperial palace treated me like I was a ruler! A ruler, I became a ruler when I was merely a toy in the past, a joker for the royal family to make a mockery of. And I basked in the glory of having power in my hands – when it was my turn to stomp on others, my turn to make a mockery of others and my turn to wreck the lives of others. Bitter acrimony equivalent to that of a child’s – I used that as my excuse, I used that as a reason to feel glorified when I crushed someone else. An amazing feeling, really; amazingly painful too.”

Luhan’s heart tightens and he wishes for her to say no more. Not because he feels repulsed by her, but because he knows she feels repulsed with herself. “Your Highness-“

“You will not understand, I do not expect you to. There are things in this world that you have to experience before you understand. You have to be pierced through the heart before you know what it feels like to be pierced; likewise you have to suffer tremendously before you can judge whether life is unreasonable or not. And even if you do comprehend it, there will be bitter losers like myself who take pleasure in making sure people understand the suffering I went through – and then you will not comprehend me. You will not, you will not, you will not. I would rather remain misunderstood than have you, of all people, suffering just to comprehend me.”

She inhales slowly, and Luhan grasps her hand. Bitter rancor, unsettled despondency and agonizing distress are all annihilated by the retaliation of warmth, tenderness and empathy. She feels intoxicated by it, and it’s horribly unfamiliar, and she’s slipping out of every boundary she has set for herself- But then he releases her hand, returning her to her rightful position, her rightful state of mind.

“No dashing knight will let a beautiful damsel suffer on her own,” he attempts to joke.

She returns him with a smile, “Did you ever find me beautiful?”

“Maybe. Did you ever find me dashing?”

“Maybe.”

“Is that even important?” They ask the question in unison, and they erupt in peals of childish laughter.

“You know,” she adds a-matter-of-factly, “I do not mind unscrupulous drunkards.”

He smiles, “I don’t mind ruthless murderers either.”

They feel like they’ve known each other for a lifetime, and maybe it’s that lifetime’s worth of mutual understanding and respect that binds them even tighter than the red string of fate.

//

Spring. April 23, 657.

Stacks of silk, rare gems and paintings mysteriously turn up at their doorstep, and even more mysterious are the messengers of these gifts – Zhou Mi’s acute eyesight fail to detect the presence of messengers. He only discovers the unnecessarily extravagant gifts which Qian stubbornly claim are hers, and Mi begins to wonder about her enigmatic admirer. But he doesn’t question her – he’s wary of how particular she is about the extent of intrusiveness, his intrusiveness.

Mi doesn’t mean to be paranoid when he stands guard at the door for five hours straight. He doesn’t mean to be protective when he grabs the puny messenger’s collar, with the poor guy nearly asphyxiating. He doesn’t mean to be obtrusive when he interrogates the messenger and unintentionally discovers that he’s sent by the emperor. Mi doesn’t mean to commit such deeds but he commits them anyway.

He slams the messenger’s jade piece on the table, startling Qian from her daydreams. “What have you been doing with the emperor? What on earth are you getting yourself involved in?” He pounds her with questions before she can even exclaim at his unfamiliar brashness.

Her eyelids shoot up in astonishment. She snatches the jade piece and she points an accusing finger at him, “You’ve been prying into my matters! I told you to lay off!” Irritation exacerbates all that is supposed to be brotherly care, concern and affection; it’s like a veneer, but this time, it’s one that is unintentionally employed.

“What have you been doing at the palace?” He repeats himself, enunciating on his question. He has been kept in the dark for a little too long, and his dearest hope is that his darkest predictions aren’t brought to life. “Have you and the emperor-?” He cannot bring himself to complete his sentence, leaving it hanging loosely in the air.

“Yes!” She shrieks in admittance, slamming her hands on the table in frustration. Her eyes pierce daggers into his heart and she robs him of his ability to speak. “Yes, alright, yes – I slept with the emperor, I’ve become his new and yes, damn it, I’m proud of it! Are you satisfied now? Found out everything you want to know?”

He takes a minute to register it all in his mind – one, Qian is in trouble; two, Qian is in trouble; three, Qian is in trouble, all hell will break loose- “What are you thinking?” He roars, his fiery wrath being unleashed for the very first time. “Of all people, Qian, the emperor? That weak, powerless emperor who does nothing-“

“I forbid you to say something like that! His Majesty is a good person! He’s suffered a lot throughout his growing years and there isn’t a single person he can trust! Now that he’s put his trust and faith in me, I won’t let you wreck it, Mi! I love him, alright; I love him a hell lot more than I’ve ever liked that petty fool Luhan.”

“Oh lord, Qian, how much more delusional can you get? Everyone in Chang’an has suffered; all that he’s suffered is the ostracism staged by the officials and wife because he’s too damn weak to stand on his own feet! And you love him? You love him?” He emits a caustic chuckle. “Does he even love you?” He argues relentlessly – he knows what’s best and he’s convinced no one else does.

“He does!” Qian defends herself, though her shield begins to tremble. “If he doesn’t like me, if he doesn’t have trust in me, then he wouldn’t have-“

“Qian, trust and love are two different things! You can trust several people, but you can only love one person! If he loves the empress enough to allow her to slay his own concubines, what promises that he won’t do the same to you?”

“He won’t,” Qian says staunchly. She balls her fists petulantly and glares at him. “He won’t do that. Not to me.”

Mi stifles sarcastic laughter, “He doesn’t have to be the one to do that to you, Qian. When the empress finds out, it’ll be a miracle if you can survive with both your limbs still attached to your body! You will die under her hands if you continue, Qian. Even that beloved emperor of yours will not be able to save you because the only damn person he loves is his wife and every other girl is just a toy! You’re just a toy!”

Tears spring to Qian’s eyes, and she refuses to believe him. Somewhere deep, deep down, the existent truth parallels Mi’s words, but Qian lets denial and obstinacy enshroud her. She lets the fluffy cloud of idyllic dreams obscure her. She can’t let him ruin everything she has perceived to be beautiful. No, not anymore. He’s done that for too long, too long for her to continue to tolerate it.

“Mind your own business!”

“I am your brother!”

“No, you’re not! You just call yourself my brother! In truth you and I have nothing between us, nothing; you’re just happy when you see my life wrecked!”

She storms off and Mi doesn’t bother to pick up his pieces of the heart she shattered.

//

Spring. April 26, 657.

“Does he love me?”

Sooyoung’s impromptu question baffles Qian, triggering her little shield to wrap itself around her. “Who?” Qian can predict exactly who Sooyoung is talking about, but she inwardly wishes that she’s wrong.

“His Majesty,” Sooyoung responds, her grin blissful, like a child’s. “Strange of him to present me with such a status yet not visit me. Why, I can barely remember our first night! Almost like nothing happened at all!” She giggles and obliviously drives the wedge deeper into Qian’s wounded heart. “Strange, just so strange.”

“I guess,” she replies succinctly.

“I wonder if I’m now considered to be a ‘dirty’ woman. Everyone else says that I’m pretty clean because there’s nothing lurid between me and His Majesty, but I think otherwise. But it is dirty to lose your innocence to a man who’s been with so many other women, isn’t it?” She puts her head on her hands, staring into the oblivion. “Makes you feel dirty ten times over.”

Qian feels her heart being twisted, contorted into several revolting shapes; remorse is the c