The bright moon hangs high, beckoning him down from his pedestal.

[Same as this chapter, I have to say it several times: Princess Qingruo's title was given because of her meritorious service in the marriage alliance, not because of blood ties. The whole thing violates public order and good morals. How can this be changed?]

It takes five days to travel from the capital to the desert, and today is only the third day.

On the official road, a procession was slowly moving north.

At the forefront was the ceremonial guard holding the Great Zhou Dragon Banner high, followed by cavalrymen in light armor, their hooves kicking up a light dust.

They crowded around the most spacious and luxurious carriage.

Inside Shen Wangxi's carriage, a thick, snow-white cashmere carpet was laid out, and a small sandalwood table was placed there, with several open storybooks and a black jade chessboard scattered on it.

Shen Qingruo curled up on the blanket, resting her head on Shen Wangxi's lap, and had fallen into a deep sleep at some point.

The fatigue from days of travel, coupled with her poor mood, left her feeling listless, and she was sleeping exceptionally peacefully with shallow breathing.

Shen Wangxi leaned against the car wall, her posture not very upright. One long leg was laid flat so that the little girl could rest her head more comfortably, while the other long leg was casually bent.

He lowered his head, his gaze fixed on her face, scrutinizing her closely.

She hadn't shown such a docile demeanor in front of him in a long time.

These days, she is either aloof and distant, or silently shedding tears.

As she slept, her eyes were gentle, her lips slightly parted, and she seemed to have become that little girl who secretly admired him and longed for his attention again.

Shen Wangxi was somewhat lost in thought. He raised his hand to touch her small face, but then hesitated, afraid of disturbing her peaceful sleep, and slowly lowered his hand.

After an unknown amount of time, the carriage rolled over a small stone, causing it to jolt slightly.

Shen Qingruo frowned, unconsciously moved closer to him, rubbed against his waist and abdomen, found a more comfortable position, and fell asleep again.

Shen Wangxi's body stiffened slightly as she looked at her, a tender feeling slowly spreading through her heart.

He remained in that position, motionless, letting her rest her head on his pillow, as if this were the most important thing in the world.

-

Two days later, the group finally arrived at the desert royal court.

Although it is no longer as prosperous as it was when it was the capital, it still retains its scale. The officials stationed here had already received the news and led their people to kneel and welcome it.

"Your Majesty, we respectfully welcome you! Long live the Emperor!" The crowd kowtowed, their voices echoing across the vast grasslands.

When the leading official saw Shen Qingruo being helped down from the carriage by Shen Wangxi, he was clearly taken aback for a moment, and then respectfully said, "Your subject pays respects to Princess Qingruo."

Shen Wangxi immediately frowned and interrupted in a cold voice: "You've got the wrong title. She is now my Consort Zhao."

The official broke out in a cold sweat and quickly changed his tune, leading the crowd in a renewed kowtow: "Your subject pays respects to Consort Zhao, may Your Highness live a thousand years!"

Shen Qingruo was half-protected in Shen Wangxi's arms, and he took good care of her the whole way, so she didn't feel too tired.

She only knew that she was leaving the palace to relax, but she never expected that Shen Wangxi would take her back to the desert.

Shen Qingruo stared at the magnificent royal tent, momentarily stunned, her heart churning with emotion, unable to speak for a long time.

Shen Wangxi put his arm around her slender waist and asked gently, "Are you tired? Let's go inside and rest."

As he spoke, he half-supported and half-carried her, leading her into the royal tent that once symbolized supreme power.

The interior of the tent was still lavishly furnished, with thick wool carpets and gold and silver utensils.

Shen Wangxi helped her sit down on the cushion next to the main seat, and then sat down next to her, his gaze fixed on her face.

"Aruo, are you happy?" He looked at her, his tone filled with expectation.

"I remember you said that when you were in Daliang, you always longed to go home."

"It's just that after I entered the Central Plains, I was busy with many affairs and never thought of taking you back to our old home. It was my fault."

"On this trip, there is no one else but you and me. Whether it is your longing for your homeland or the regrets I have for neglecting you in the past, I will make it up to you."

Shen Qingruo didn't look at him; her gaze passed over him and landed on an inconspicuous corner of the royal tent.

She remembered clearly that a year and a half ago, in that cold winter, she knelt in that corner, listening to him and his ministers decide her fate.

At that time, he was high above her, his gaze sweeping over her indifferently, and with just two casual words, he sent her into the unfamiliar Daliang.

A tear slid down Shen Qingruo's cheek without warning.

Shen Wangxi followed her gaze and saw that corner as well.

Almost instantly, he recalled the scene from that time.

At that time, she was his youngest daughter, dressed in plain clothes, her frail figure forced to accept his cruel decision.

Shen Wangxi asked himself: Why did he not feel guilty at all back then, but only take it for granted?

He had no answer, only belated heartache.

Shen Wangxi reached out and cupped her small face in his hands, his voice urgent: "Aruo, I was wrong in the past, look at me now."

He gazed at her, this time without the aloofness of a crescent moon, only the tenderness and love of a man:

"I've long held you in my heart, Aruo, can't you feel it?"

"I was blind before, and ignored you."

"Now, and ever again, it will never happen again. I will never treat you like that again."

Shen Qingruo closed her eyes as she looked at his remorseful expression.

How could a few words of repentance easily erase the wounds that he had personally etched into his heart?