The Mirror of Startling Beauty: Her courtiers are everywhere

A bright orange spark burst from the furnace fire.

Shen Cuo composed himself.

On the forging table, the sword has already begun to take shape.

Tang Xiye was setting the galaxy gem into the sword guard, her fingertips repeatedly comparing it against the edge—shifting it three-tenths to the side and then back to seven-tenths.

The emperor's features were faintly illuminated by the firelight, so faint that no emotion could be discerned.

Only those hands.

Those hands gave everything away.

Shen Cuo lowered his eyes.

His Majesty will probably never know.

How did that person kneeling under the corridor hold the words "Wu Jiu" (meaning "without blame") all the way, until his palms bled and the ink seeped through them, yet he still couldn't bear to let go?

They would never know how many blades he would shield the emperor from the blade and how much poison he would drink in the years to come, each time without hesitation.

That's not repaying a debt of gratitude.

That was when someone in the world finally told him—

Shen Cuo, you are not wrong.

Shen Cuo, you deserve to live in this world.

He was never chosen from birth.

He was neglected by his father, mistreated by the servants, and trampled on by his classmates.

He thought he was just a superfluous, unwanted, and indelible stain on the world.

Crown Prince Tang Xiye never spoke softly to him.

I rarely even look at him.

But the Crown Prince pulled him back from the brink of disaster at every moment when he thought he would be abandoned.

again and again.

"Shen Cuo, keep up."

He followed.

I've witnessed the long twilights of the Eastern Palace, the first snowfall of the coronation, and countless bloodless clashes and bloody nights.

The lowly guard who once stood at the back of the guard, even holding a halberd, has, through the changing of dawn and dusk year after year, become the commander-in-chief of the Imperial Guard and the emperor's most trusted shadow guard.

The fire in the stove gradually died down.

The last cluster of dark red flames struggled for a few breaths in the heart of the embers before finally sinking into the grayish-white ashes.

Tangxi Ye held up the plain longsword and examined it under the full moon.

The sword was not yet sharpened or tempered; its entire body was made of Snow Cloud Crystal ore and clothed with Moon Essence Marrow, flowing with a clear light.

The light was as gentle as a spring stream, unlike the sharp and intimidating light of an ordinary sword.

It was as if the swordsmith had no intention of letting it drink blood, but only wanted to give it to one person, to wear it at her waist, and to accompany her through the years.

At the hilt of the sword, a single point of deep blue starlight gemstone appeared, its depths unfathomable.

Like a drop of frozen night sea sealed away.

It's like sealing away a heart that refuses to speak out.

He held the sword like that, as if he were holding a handful of snow that was about to melt.

Shen Cuo gazed at the emperor's profile.

The fire in the stove has died down, and the moonlight is full.

Silver light bathed half of his shoulder and back, tempered his eyebrows into cold jade, and washed the corners of his robe into flowing frost.

That silhouette was as serene as a deity in an ancient painting, noble and aloof, untouched by worldly affairs.

But those hands were clearly still holding the sword, the fingertips slightly curled up, as if afraid it would fall, or as if afraid it would break if gripped too tightly.

Shen Cuo thought: The person His Majesty wants to send must be the best woman in the world.

He had never seen His Majesty so solemn.

When selecting gemstones, he is more cautious than when reading a hundred official documents; when adjusting mineral ratios, he is more meticulous than when formulating military strategies; every minor adjustment is almost obsessive.

Having followed him for ten years, Shen Cuo knew very well.

Such a person is never easily moved.

If it is moved, it means to cut out a heart and temper it into the bone of the sword.

Just like back then, someone bent down and picked up a piece of scrap iron that had been trampled into the mud.

There was no charity, no looking down, no condescending pity.

It was simply sheathed.

From that time on, the knife never broke again.

Just to protect him.

A wind has picked up outside.

The moonlight of Baiyujing overflowed, spilling over the snow-covered eaves and the thousands of plum trees by the Sword Washing Pool.

The silvery light washes over each branch, making them appear as if they were tempered by frost, so translucent that they would shatter into countless pieces of glass at the slightest touch.

Shen Cuo held the token he had kept close to his body for ten years in his sleeve with his fingertips.

The edges have been smoothed by my fingertips, and the originally sharp marks have softened, like the edges that time has smoothed out.

Sometimes, he would take it out on a quiet night and, under the dim light, trace the two characters over and over with his thumb.

No blame.

There is no sharp beginning or a striking ending.

It just lay there quietly and warmly in my palm.

He would sometimes wonder—how much winter sunlight had leaked through the cracks in the East Palace window that day?

Why, even after ten years, can he still see that person's profile with downcast eyes when he closes his eyes?

The eyebrows are like distant mountains, the eyelashes like thin mist, and the hand holding the pen is like holding a handful of snow that is about to melt.

He so casually and unintentionally granted a discarded child the ultimate salvation.

It was as if a god was looking down upon the mortal world.

And he was that ray of light that slipped through the eyes of the gods.

From that moment on, it illuminated the dust of my life.

The moonlight was perfect.

It shines on the snow-covered mountains, and on those who cannot sleep.

"Brother Emperor—!"

A clear, soft, and melodious girl's voice, like a red plum blossom suddenly peeking out from the depths of a snowy night, crisply broke through the stagnant moonlight in the pond.

"I've come to see the sword you forged for me!"

The entire pool of silver mirrors shattered in an instant.

Tang Xixue, carrying her snow-white skirt, came stepping into the moonlight, her ice-blue shawl trailing behind her like a flowing cloud.

Snowflake-shaped hair ornaments swayed lightly in her hair, and the dangling beads touched her ears, like wind chimes under the eaves being knocked by the spring breeze.

Behind her were thousands of plum trees covered in snow, and in front of her was a forging platform with its fire about to go out.

She stood in the gap between cold and warmth, smiling radiantly, like a spring poem that had stumbled into the pages of a winter poem.

Shen Cuo froze.

He slowly turned his head and glanced at Tang Xixue.

She slowly turned her head and looked at Tang Xiye as if she had seen a ghost.

That emperor, whose expression had just been cold and aloof, like ice tempered for a thousand years—

In that instant, I felt as if snow had met the warm sun.

Her brows softened, her lips curved upwards, and even the thin layer of frost that had lingered under her eyes for years melted away silently into spring water.

The gentle spring water, flowing over the indifferent emperor's brows, unexpectedly revealed a touch of youthful tenderness.

Shen Cuo glanced again at the sword on the forging table.

He had mistaken it for a token of love.

...His Majesty has gone mad.

This sword was actually forged for Princess Mirror.

If he remembered correctly, the sword "Weaving Night" that Emperor Shengchen always wore at his waist was forged by Tang Xixue herself.

It was a black longsword, its blade like a frozen night river, with a deep-sea blue crystal embedded in the hilt.

The end is tied with a snowflake tassel made of ice crystals. Each ice crystal was carved by Tang Xixue herself when she was young, and it shimmers with iridescent light under the light.

It was only because Tang Xiye once saw the snowflake tassels on her waist and praised them, saying "Beautiful."

Those were old gifts from He Lichen, which she never gave away.

However, on Tang Xiye's birthday the following year, she personally carved an almost identical sword tassel and tied it to the new sword she had forged for him.

She said, "My brother's sword must also have the most beautiful tassel in the world."

Now Emperor Shengchen wants to return a sword to her.

The two of them.

They exchanged swords.

What is this?

Are they mutually attracted?

Is it a case of telepathy?

In the embers of the furnace, the last spark made a soft "pop".

Went out.

Along with it, the last vestige of hope in Shen Cuo's heart also vanished.

Is his god about to be defiled by Princess Mirror?

Thinking about Princess Mirror's absurd behavior over the years, he felt like the sky had fallen.

As His Majesty's most ardent supporter.

He had actually sensed that something was wrong with His Majesty a long time ago.

The scattered traces from those years are like icicles hanging from the eaves on a winter night, each one suspended there, clear and distinct, but no one dares to look up at them.

The way His Majesty looked at her was never the way an elder brother would look at his younger sister.

He thought they were ruler and subject.

They are siblings.

It is the purest and most flawless guardian in this world.

But what brother would change the rhythm of his breathing the moment his sister steps through the palace gates?

Would he temper his heart into the bone of the sword, just so she could wear it at his waist?

It's a complete change of expression in a second, okay?

My God, this is so exciting!

Will His Majesty silence him?

"Zhizhi, you're early."

Tang Xiye's voice carried three parts helplessness and seven parts doting, like melted maltose, gently enveloping the bone-chilling cold of the winter night.

He lifted the sword from the forging table and examined every detail by candlelight. His fingertips traced the spine, guard, and pommel, making sure the gemstones fit perfectly before gently placing it back on the stand.

"It's not finished yet." He turned his head, his eyes bathed in moonlight, his expression incredibly gentle. "Once my brother finishes forging it, he will personally deliver it to you at the Hall of Longevity."

He paused, then added softly:

"Zhizhi, why are you in such a hurry?"

The tone wasn't reproachful; it was more like coaxing a raccoon dog that couldn't wait to eat candy and was peeking over the edge of the table.

"Yes—because I'm full of anticipation."

Tang Xixue approached the forging platform, her snow-white skirt brushing against the ground, carrying a faint, cool fragrance of crabapple blossoms.

Shen Cuo instinctively picked up the rosewood armchair beside him, about to place it—

But then the emperor reached out and stopped him.

Tang Xiye personally took the brocade cushion from the side of the chair and laid it on the seat. She then smoothed out a barely perceptible crease at the corner of the cushion with her fingertips, her expression more focused than when she was reviewing urgent reports from the border.

He then straightened up and turned his head to look at her:

"sit."

Shen Cuo lowered his eyes, and the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

His Majesty has stopped acting altogether.

Where has that dignified, self-possessed, and composed demeanor gone?

"Zhizhi, don't rush."

The sound of Tangxi at night is steady, low and mellow, like aged plum wine, slowly poured into a cup on a winter night:

"It will only be woven."

Tang Xixue sat obediently on the soft cushion, her hands resting on her knees, like a snowball with its claws folded.

She gazed at the unfinished sword on the forging table, her eyes focused and gentle, as if looking at some extremely precious and rare treasure.

After a long while, she suddenly turned her head:

"Oh, right—I heard that Mother has returned from Huguo Temple. My elder brothers and sisters will also arrive in the capital tomorrow."

The candlelight reflected in her eyes, sparkling like scattered starlight.

"I haven't seen them in a long time."

"Um."

Tang Xiye picked up the sword blank again, his fingertips tracing the unsharpened spine. His movements were composed, as was his tone:

"The grand ceremony to worship Heaven is about to begin."

"It must be very lively and spectacular," Tang Xixue blinked. "I've never been to one before."

Tang Xiye paused slightly in the hand holding the sword.

He didn't look up, his voice remaining calm and composed:

"Zhizhi, this time—"

"Would you like to walk alongside me?"

The voice was very soft, as soft as a snowflake falling on a glazed tile.

But those two words, "side by side," echoed deeply in the silence of the room.

He didn't look at her.

His brows remained lowered, his gaze falling upon the sword, upon the moonlight, upon some unknown place.

The fire in the stove had long since died out, and only the moonlight streaming through the window bathed his profile in a cold, jade-like glow.

Beneath that cold jade, however, lay extremely fine cracks.

Like being afraid of being rejected.

It was as if he was afraid she would discover the inappropriate greed hidden in his request.

Tang Xixue looked at him.

After a long while, she smiled softly.

"Okay," she said.

That single word was as soft as melting snow, as light as a falling feather.

Tang Xiye didn't look up. He simply placed the sword blank back on the shelf, his fingertips tracing the edge of the Star River Gem one last time.

The movement was very gentle, as if settling a matter that had finally been settled.

"Throughout Chenyao, my Zhizhi can go anywhere."

He turned around and met her gaze.

The moonlight fell on his shoulders and also on her smiling eyes.

He made her wear the sword he forged, and she stood beside him on the high altar for the sacrificial ceremony.

Let her stand in the light, so that everyone can see her.

It freed her from hiding, from concealing her talents, and from holding back her brilliance.

Let her return to being the person who should bloom freely—his Zhizhi.

That's good enough.

He gazed at her silently, and finally, a very faint smile appeared on his lips:

"Just put your feet down."

"It is my own doing."

Outside the window, moonlight blanketed the snow-covered mountains.

At this moment, the frost in the emperor's eyes completely transformed into spring.