Langhua: The Codependence of a Prince and His General

Consort Liang

"Protect the Emperor!"

The banquet was immediately thrown into disarray. The imperial guards on either side of the tallest thrones drew their weapons, protecting the Emperor with their bodies. A few stood before the Empress, who was frowning, and the Noble Consort, who had thrown herself at the Emperor's arm with a little shriek.

However, it soon became evident that the target was none of the three most powerful people in the kingdom.

"...!"

The assailant had knocked the Third Princess over and grabbed her sword from her hands. Armed with the gleaming blade, she rushed toward Xuanyuan Lang.

"Stop!" The Emperor shouted. "What are you doing, Consort Xian?!"

But for once, his words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Xuanyuan Lang could not understand what was happening. Why was the usually meek and demure consort attacking him all of a sudden? He barely even knew her!

There was no time for him to think. The blade came swinging at him, and he reacted in the worst way possible—by trying to catch the sword.

To his surprise, there was no pain, no burst of red as the sword cut his hand open. His palm touched the smooth, rounded edge of the blade.

It was not sharpened.

Xuanyuan Lang quickly glanced at the Third Princess, who was still sitting on the ground after Consort Xian had pushed her down. While everyone else was either panicked or perplexed, the youngest princess looked worried but not overly anxious. She would know that her sword was ornamental.

He might just owe her his life after this.

"Why?" Consort Xian's eyes were bloodshot, in stark contrast against her deathly-pale skin. "Why won't you die?"

"Why do you want me to?" Xuanyuan Lang asked in response, regaining his composure now that the adrenaline was dying down. He tightened his grip on the sword and swung his arm forcefully, breaking her grip on the hilt and throwing her onto the floor. Now that he was relatively calmer, he could see that she had been holding the weapon all wrong. He could overpower her with ease.

Guards approached them, but Xuanyuan Lang held them back with a hand. He wanted to hear what she had to say.

"I..."

Consort Xian struggled to clamber to her feet. As all eyes focused on her, Xuanyuan Lang could not help but notice that Xuanyuan Rui was looking away.

He was looking even paler and sicker than she was, if that was even possible.

Did he know what was going on? Xuanyuan Lang frowned, distracted for just a moment by his suspicions.

"I'll kill you!"

Consort Xian lunged at Xuanyuan Lang again, without even an ornamental sword to brandish this time. His frown deepened, but he did not want to hurt her if possible. She was clearly not in her right mind and—

"Qilang!"

There was a glint of steel.

Consort Xian had pulled a fruit knife out of her clothes.

Everything happened in a fraction of a second.

There was a sickeningly soft sound as the tiny knife stabbed through cloth, cut through skin, slipped past ribs, and plunged deep into flesh.

A choke, barely audible. A gasp, resounding across the banquet.

The rustle of the wind as it scattered flaming red maple leaves falling upon the scene of a tragedy.

Silence. And then a cry—

"Mother!"

Consort Xian backed away, pulling her knife out of Consort Liang's chest. There was a burst of red, and Xuanyuan Lang caught his mother before she slumped to the ground.

"Mother!"

Consort Xian stumbled two steps back, into the arms of guards who slammed her to the ground and pinned her there. She flailed and thrashed, screaming incoherently.

"It's his fault! He wanted to take my Rui'er away! My boy! My only son!"

Behind them, Xuanyuan Rui had collapsed into his seat and was holding his face in his hands.

The Empress' eyes were wide in disbelief. No one could see what the Noble Consort's expression was, since she had buried her head into the Emperor's shoulder.

The Emperor was impassive, though an astute observer may have seen a flash of pain across his eyes.

But Xuanyuan Lang did not notice any of this.

"What are you waiting for? Summon the imperial physicians!

"Don't just stand there!

"Somebody, do something!"

"What are you doing—"

A hand rested on his shoulder.

"Seventh Brother." Xuanyuan Chen's voice was gentle. The last time Xuanyuan Lang remembered hearing him sound so kind, he had been a child too young to read, chasing frogs in the lake gardens. "It's too late."

His voice was kind, but his words were oh so cruel.

Xuanyuan Lang looked down, his neck moving as though by clockwork.

There was blood everywhere, spilling forth from the deceptively small wound in Consort Liang's chest. Her eyes were half-lidded, her mouth hanging slightly open. When he touched her face with his trembling hand, he smeared her cheeks with bright red.

The blood was warm, but her body was already turning cold and stiff in his arms.

*

He did not know when he let go. Someone was saying something, but he could not hear them. They touched his arms, his shoulders, coaxing his grip away from her body. He just stood and watched as they took her away, his legs too leaden to follow. When the physicians finally arrived, they tended to him, not her. They led him away and sat him down, fussing over him while he sat completely still.

It was as though his spirit was left on the banquet grounds, they said, shaking their heads when the Emperor asked. It must have been a nasty shock, but there is nothing we can do. He must recover on his own.

They walked him back to Benevolence Palace and told the weeping maids to care for him. But no matter what the girls did, no matter how they wailed at his feet and pleaded for him to move, he did not budge.

He simply sat on his bed, his eyes still wide, the blood drying on his face and hands in the autumn wind. His breathing had gone from fast and shallow to barely noticeable.

And he waited.

A soft yet stern voice tried and failed to comfort him, eventually fading with a sigh.

So he waited.

Dongmei and Xiaju sobbed, saying he was their only master left.

Still he waited.

She was never coming back.

He waited forever. Yet he did not have to wait long.

When the sun sank over the horizon, the twilight rays behind the panting visitor stumbling to the door cast a long shadow. It fell over him, and his dried-up eyes finally moved.

He looked up.

Hua Yuheng ran into the room and threw his arms around him.

Time ticked.