When did it begin?
Zhen pondered, letting his thoughts wander.
When did his heart start stirring just by seeing her green sleeves sway in the wind? When did he find himself turning back at the mere sound of the suikinsuzu chime in her hair?
Fei Ling.
She was strong.
A young woman as taut as a drawn bowstring. No matter how much others despised her, she never let her gaze falter. She continued working steadfastly, as if embodying the phrase “do what must be done.”
“Ah, what a coincidence.”
When Zhen called out to her, Fei Ling turned, lifting her hair as she did so. Her silvery strands shimmered under the sunlight. After confirming that no one else was around, her smile shifted—from a practiced, polite expression to a thorny, genuine one. It was a transition as graceful as a flower blooming.
“Oh, you’re still wearing it.”
“It doesn’t get in the way.”
Fei Ling touched the poisonous hairpin and spoke as though it were nothing.
“That’s so like you. …If you’re going to wear it, you should pin it on the left side.”
Zhen leaned in slightly and adjusted the hairpin for her. Though her brows furrowed in suspicion, she still allowed him to touch her hair. In certain unexpected ways, she was defenseless—almost foolishly so.
A eunuch came walking across the corridor.
This was a relationship that could not be revealed to others. Fei Ling quietly bowed her head and walked away. As Zhen watched her slender back retreat, the eunuch tried to speak to her in passing but stopped short.
“Did you need something from me?”
“…Ah, no, it’s nothing.”
That eunuch had been watching Fei Ling from a distance since summer. He was probably harboring feelings for her. But upon seeing the hairpin placed on the left side, he gasped and lowered his head.
(A single undecorated hairpin worn on the left side is a symbol of engagement.)
Fei Ling herself was unaware, but many eunuchs were drawn to her. Though eunuchs, they were once men.
(Give it up. She’s mine.)
From afar, Zhen glared at the eunuch.
Though Fei Ling was still shunned by many, her talent was gradually being recognized, and people were beginning to gather around her for support. For some reason, this irritated Zhen to no end.
To distract himself from his frustration, he took a puff from his pipe.
(Only me.)
Fei Ling always maintained her smile. But deep, deep within her eyes, a flame burned quietly, endlessly dark.
(Only I know her poison.)
Even she wasn’t aware of it.
How dark and seething her green eyes could be. How much of a toxic contradiction she carried within her as she wore herself down with meaningless atonement.
It must be painful.
That’s why, consumed by poison, she cried out like that.
(You’re just like me. You’ve devoured hell, and you’ve swallowed hell. That’s how you were born. Yet you’re so beautiful that it makes my chest ache.)
The Empress once said, “It’s because you’re in love with her, isn’t it?”
At the time, Zhen had laughed it off in rejection, but now he would admit it. He didn’t understand love, but if love—or fondness, or whatever you called it—was akin to a deadly poison, then…
(Fall all the way down here. Then I’ll finally be able to hold you in my arms and perhaps give you at least one gentle kiss.)
Once more, smoke rose, ascending into the blindingly blue sky.
