Chapter 151: A Heart Like a Fortified City, Impregnable (Part Three)

Nie Peixiao’s series of rhetorical questions carried no irritation, no disappointment—only a profound sorrow and lament, as though he were sighing over the injustice of fate while marveling at its uncanny twists.

Dazhuo was lost within the lingering, distant cadence of his final note. It took her a long time to snap back to her senses, her earlobes burning red as she struggled with all her might. “Please show some self-respect, Your Highness.”

Greedily, Nie Peixiao held the delicate body in his arms. Since he had already spoken the words and made his move, he had resolved to be forceful this once. Propriety between men and women, moral codes, and gentlemanly demeanor were all cast to the winds. He had finally discovered that with a woman like Dazhuo, if one merely treated her with endless courtesy, one would never stand a chance.

It was time to employ some force and coaxing.

At this thought, Nie Peixiao became all the more reluctant to let go. Right now, his mind was filled with the image of Dazhuo’s enchanting eyes shifting and her gentle, subtle smile. Holding such tender warmth and fragrant jade in his embrace, he found himself utterly unable to restrain his passions, and even a raging fire of desire began to be stirred within him.

Just as his thoughts were beginning to wander, a sharp pain suddenly came from the back of his left hand. Nie Peixiao lowered his gaze to see that the woman in his arms, desperate to break free, had bitten down hard on the back of his hand. Seeing this, his arms tightened without a single shudder. He felt that Dazhuo’s biting strength was not quite sharp enough, feeling merely like a kitten scratching him lightly—nothing compared to the bloody storms he had faced on the battlefield.

Clearly, Dazhuo had not expected Nie Peixiao to have such endurance. Even though she had bitten down with seventy percent of her strength, the man showed no reaction whatsoever. It was only when a hard object suddenly pressed against her lower abdomen that she grew even more alarmed, terrified that Nie Peixiao might commit some rash act. Hardening her heart, she used every ounce of her strength and bit down once more.

A faint trace of copper-tasting blood welled up in her mouth, and the tip of her tongue tasted something neither quite sweet nor salty. Dazhuo knew she had broken the skin on the back of Nie Peixiao’s hand, yet the man before her remained completely unmoved...

Even though she was usually decisive and ruthless when handling clan affairs and could remain calm and resourceful before the Prince of Mu, Dazhuo was, after all, a woman under twenty. Facing such humiliation, she could not help but panic, and in her desperation, tears fell.

Nie Peixiao felt a dampness on the back of his left hand. Thinking it was his own blood, he looked down just in time to see two tear tracks slide down Dazhuo’s cheeks. Those crystal-clear pearls were scalding hot, turning slightly cool as they landed on the back of his hand. Her pair of piteous, tear-filled eyes acted like a sharp blade, coming down to carve deep, heavy scars into his heart.

“Don’t cry...” Nie Peixiao finally loosened his grip slightly. Dazhuo reacted instantly, taking two steps back to break free from his embrace. Pressing against the desk, she gasped deeply, her face a mask of vigilance, while the lingering tear tracks only made her look more delicate and pitiful.

Seeing Dazhuo trembling all over, her defensive posture as if facing a formidable enemy, Nie Peixiao lowered his gaze to look once more at the row of deep tooth marks on the back of his hand and that trivial flesh wound. In an instant, he felt that the wound hurt beyond measure. She actually regarded him as an enemy to be guarded against...

Things having reached this point, Dazhuo could naturally no longer maintain her dignified bearing. Shocked and enraged, she pointed toward the study door and said unceremoniously, “Get out!”

Nie Peixiao pressed his thin lips tightly together, feeling a pang in his heart as he saw Dazhuo’s face flushed red with anger. Yet even in her annoyance and hatred, he found her so exquisite, so deeply captivating and consuming. Regarding his beloved's resistance, Nie Peixiao remained obsessed with his earlier question and asked for the third time, “Why didn't you tell me you are Hanchu?”

Dazhuo clutched her chest, her heart still fluttering with lingering fear. She understood that if she did not explain this matter clearly tonight, Nie Peixiao would not let it rest. Looking at him warily, her right hand reached behind her to slowly grope for the inkstone on the desk, resolving that if he dared to approach again, she would smash it straight into him.

“There is nothing to say. Hanchu died long ago.” Dazhuo calmed her emotions. “I appreciate Your Highness’s misplaced affection... But I will not see you out.”

Nie Peixiao suddenly narrowed his deep, dark eyes, a chill sweeping through his heart: “I consider Madam a kindred spirit; why must Madam resist me so?”

“A kindred spirit?” Dazhuo sneered. “Is this how Your Highness treats your kindred spirits—so dissolute and frivolous?”

Dissolute and frivolous... Seeing that Dazhuo had misunderstood, Nie Peixiao panicked and hurriedly explained, “No! I only consider Madam a kindred spirit; I would never treat any other woman this way. Just now... I was too presumptuous.”

***

How could Dazhuo possibly believe him? She merely said, “Since Your Highness addresses me as ‘Madam,’ you ought to know my identity. Your actions tonight are truly going too far... Please return.”

Dismissed once again, Nie Peixiao realized he had achieved the exact opposite of his intentions. Disregarding the blood slowly oozing from the back of his hand, he eagerly said, “Madam, please listen to my explanation...” Once the words were out, he didn't know where to begin. Remembering Yun Xiangrong’s commotion outside earlier, he had no choice but to start from the matter of his marriage proposal.

“Back then, when I asked to take Yun Xiangrong as my secondary consort, it was because I heard Madam playing the zither twice in the Yun family’s back courtyard, and played in harmony with you... I mistakenly took Madam for the eldest Miss Yun, which is why I rashly proposed...” Nie Peixiao spoke eagerly, looking somewhat ashamed. “It wasn't until Yun Xiangrong married Shen Zipeng and I heard Madam’s zither playing once more that I realized I had mistaken the person... At that time, I was both deeply relieved and in agony...”

Hearing this, Dazhuo was stunned. Collecting her wits, she finally understood the meaning behind his words. Remembering the man wearing the golden mask that night, she asked doubtfully, “That night...”

“All along, the one playing the zither and Xiao in harmony with Madam was me, and the one who broke into the Yun residence to meet you that night was also me.” Nie Peixiao’s words were filled with utter dejection. “It was also that night I discovered I had recognized the wrong person—the one playing in harmony with me was not the eldest Miss Yun, but you, Madam...”

Reaching this point, he paused for a moment, a helpless, bitter smile crossing his face. “Everyone in the world says I am obsessed with music and value kindred spirits above all else. When I finally found a person whose heart beat in tune with mine, she turned out to be the mistress of the Yun family... And later, learning that you are Hanchu... Madam can well imagine what I felt in my heart.”

There was no need for Nie Peixiao to voice the rest; Dazhuo understood. Yet what use was understanding? There was simply not a shred of possibility between them. As early as five years ago, they had already missed each other.

For some reason, Dazhuo suddenly recalled what Mother Feng of the Drunken Flower Pavilion had once said. Back then, when she had just been abandoned by Helian Qi and felt life was no longer worth living, Mother Feng had scolded her for not knowing how to judge character, saying she should have chosen the Ninth Imperial Prince when she first registered...

If she had truly chosen Nie Peixiao back then, what would her circumstances be today? Would she have been reduced to one of his many concubines? Or would she have been treated with courtesy, discussing music freely with him? Or perhaps, would her fate have been the same as following Helian Qi—abandoned heartlessly after the passion faded?

Destiny truly played with people, yet was wondrous beyond measure. She and he had brushed past each other, only to become acquainted once more under their present identities. She had thought... if she could keep it hidden for a lifetime, that would be fine, but as it happened, he had found out after all.

Perhaps infected by Nie Peixiao’s profound and passionate confession, or perhaps stirred by the sighs of reminiscing about the past, Dazhuo suddenly managed to calm down, losing her previous panic. Quietly letting go of the inkstone she had been gripping, she pondered what excuse she could use to reject him flatly.

The timely silence made a glimmer of hope slowly ignite in Nie Peixiao’s heart. Seeing that Dazhuo was no longer fiercely resisting, a wave of nervous anticipation arose within him, and he stubbornly waited for a response, for an outcome.

“With Your Highness’s exalted status, what kind of stunning beauties could you not have? Since you know who I am, you must also be clear about everything in my past...” Dazhuo had by now forgotten to refer to herself as *qie-shen*. Pausing for a moment, she continued, “I am an unclean body, I have even lost a child, and my background is lowly. I am truly unworthy of you...”

Hearing this, Nie Peixiao also fell silent for a brief moment before letting out a helpless sigh. “Indeed, with my status, what kind of woman could I not have... Yet it had to be you...”

Thousands of stunning beauties with fragrant bones and alluring appearances filled the world, but only the woman before him seemed destined to leave him helpless, tossed about in confusion.

Before meeting her, his heart had been like a deep lake—even having sailed through countless sails, it was never truly satisfied. No woman could fill it, no woman could remain eternal, and no woman was worth his single-minded pursuit.

Even when he first met Hanchu back then, he had not fallen deeply; yet the chess game of worldly affairs had caused him to reunite with her years later, recognizing her under a different identity, a different guise. Had it been his rash and youthful days, he might have retreated, retreating before the obstacles of their respective statuses; but now, the timing was just right.

Who said love does not require the right time, the right place, and harmonious people? Nie Peixiao felt he was the best example.

“If love could be controlled, it would no longer be called ‘love.’ Does Madam think I haven't resisted? If I could find release, I wouldn't have come tonight.” Nie Peixiao’s words carried a trace of desolation to Dazhuo’s ears.

“Madam possesses celestial beauty, peerless and unmatched, with countless men falling for you. Helian Qi and Marquis Xinhou... it was not your fault. If I hadn't stepped back when you registered back then, perhaps the scene between us would have been entirely different.” Nie Peixiao gazed at her ardently, demanding an answer from her: “If I say I don't care, can Madam let it go?”

***

“Let go of what?” Dazhuo lowered her gaze, refusing to look at Nie Peixiao. A faint, mocking smile curled her lips, though whether she was mocking him or mocking herself was unclear: “If I let it go, how would Your Highness treat me? Like your proposal to Xiangrong—taking me as a secondary consort? Marrying a widow?”

Nie Peixiao blurted out, “The Seventh Brother’s biological mother was also a widow, and His Majesty still...”

“Then why should I walk down that old path? Why should I emulate the Prince of Mu’s mother?” Dazhuo interrupted with a cold laugh. “Even though I have no husband now, I am at least the mistress of the Yun family—ruling over a clan, holding immense power, and enjoying supreme respect... What would I gain if I submitted to you?”

Turning her head toward the window, Dazhuo saw the faint, misty candlelight reflecting the figure of a woman—vaguely her own. Looking at that shadow as if examining herself in a mirror, she coldly retorted: “Does Your Highness intend to grant me the position of a secondary consort, living out an obscure life in your manor? Competing for favor with countless other women every day, hoping merely for a glimpse of you? Then waiting for my beauty to wither and your favor to fade? Or perhaps, having your favor cut off before my youth even fades?”

Facing these sharp and incisive rhetorical questions, Nie Peixiao was rendered speechless. The truth was, after realizing his own feelings, he had never deeply considered what their future would be; he had only focused on the idea that Dazhuo could not remain a widow, and that he wanted her to accept him.

Yet how exactly to settle her, how to walk down that path—he had not fully considered it. This was an aspect he had never thought about before; concerning love and marriage, he had never pondered deeply.

Seeing Nie Peixiao remain silent, Dazhuo knew her words had struck home, and she delivered another harsh blow with a sarcastic smile: “Your Highness is a smart man. Since you do not speak, you must surely know how I ought to choose. The mistress of the Yun family is naturally far better than being a lowly secondary consort... Since that is the case, there is nothing more to say. Please make yourself at home and leave.”

Still immersed in the dilemma of how to arrange a future for himself and Dazhuo, his mind a complete mess, Nie Peixiao showed no intention of leaving. Seeing this, Dazhuo administered a final, potent dose of poison: “Though the Prince of Mu’s mother was a widow, the reigning emperor dared to openly take her into the palace. May I ask if you have that kind of courage? When you finally dare to openly marry a widow like me in broad daylight and silence the critical tongues of the world, then you may come speak of your affections.”

Dazhuo’s cold and merciless rejection finally broke Nie Peixiao’s spirit. He could not deny that the obstacles between him and Dazhuo were simply too many; the hurdles of his imperial mother and the Seventh Brother alone were probably insurmountable... Not to mention that the Yun family was also implicated.

Facing his beloved's questioning and refutation, he could not even offer a complete promise! Indeed! How could a Prince's secondary consort compare to the mistress of the Yun family? Even the position of primary consort probably could not measure up.

Moreover, born into the imperial family, he was not the master of his own destiny; while he could promise her a lifetime of pampering, he might not be able to grant her the position of primary consort...

Thinking thus, the bitten wound on his hand began to hurt as never before. A tormenting pain, festering deep into his flesh and bones, struck fiercely, leaving Nie Peixiao powerless to resist. He knew that if this romance was destined to be a tragedy, the wound on his hand would never heal for the rest of his life...

Things having come to this, Dazhuo felt she had achieved her goal, and said in a deep voice once more: “I did not say I am Hanchu simply because I do not wish to be entangled with the past. You can see for yourself that Lord Helian and I are now as distant as strangers... I have no wish to reach such a state with Your Highness.”

She used the deferential term *qie-shen* once again, and from this moment on, she resumed her lofty status. Unwilling to share the same room with Nie Peixiao any longer, seeing him still standing dazed in place, she had no choice but to leave first: “Please make yourself comfortable, Your Highness. I will not accompany you further.”

With light, lotus-like steps, she walked to the door, and just as she was about to push it open, something occurred to her. Turning her head back, she added: “As for recommending Shen Yu to officialdom, Your Highness need not trouble yourself; I will find another way.” She was unwilling to owe Nie Peixiao this favor, because it was a debt she could never repay.

With a creak, the door swung open, and the night wind swept through like smoke, once again carrying Dazhuo’s faint fragrance into Nie Peixiao’s nostrils. The mistress of the house had departed decisively, leaving him—the guest—behind to nurse his grief and boundless confusion.

It was already the first day of the Lunar Year, yet the solitude of Flowing Cloud Manor stood in sharp contrast to the celebratory atmosphere within the capital city. Nie Peixiao did not know how he had managed to return to Yingyuan Palace; he only felt that all the hustle, bustle, and prosperity along the way had nothing to do with him. Even with the deafening firecrackers and joyful laughter, they could not warm his desolate heart.