My Sin

Selfish

When he returned to Jingshui Gong, the lanterns had already been lit. The wind outside had stopped, but as they approached the eighth month, it was becoming increasingly cold. A gong'e stepped forward with a robe. He took it, but did not speak.

Inside, the brazier burned quietly. Someone had prepared hot tea on the side table. He did not touch it.

He sat for a long time without moving, still dressed in his outer robe. His sleeves were slightly damp near the cuffs. The cold had settled into his hands and hadn't yet left.

No one disturbed him.

Only the low rustle of the curtains shifting with the wind broke the silence. The warmth in the room was enough, but not comforting. He leaned back slightly, closed his eyes. He was tired. Not from the walk back, but from everything else.

Earlier in Huang Ji Dian, he had said what needed to be said. Not much more, not less. The words had been clear. He had not raised his voice.

Still, it had hurt the Emperor.

He knew that.

And yet, he had done it anyway.

For the sake of peace in the court, for the sake of order, for his own standing. But also because he could no longer keep carrying it all quietly. He could no longer pretend that him just moving on would solve everything, and now even moving on was proven a challenge. He slumped his shoulders, holding back tears.

The emperor he was hurting now... wasn't the same man who had once hurt him.

That man--the one with cold eyes and cruel words, who turned away when he bled--was gone.

This emperor was the one who had gone to war not to conquer, but so that he would never have to share. He had unified the land, gained all the power he needed, not for pride, but so he could make him the only lawful wife.

His Zhengjun.

This was the man who would give up everything if he asked. Who would lay down his life without hesitation. Who would never love another, not because he couldn't, but because his heart simply wouldn't allow it.

His heart was fragile, not from weakness, but because it had learned to beat for only one person. For him. He knew all of this.

But what could be done about any of this?

Would the heavens take pity?

Of course not.

The gods were the ones who tied them into this mess. They wouldn't untangle it now.

He no longer held any hatred for the emperor from before. That version of him was gone, buried with the curse. What remained was cold memory.

But this man, the real one, was harder to face.

Because he (the emperor) loved him, still adored him. And every time he looked at him like nothing had changed his heart trembled a little. Because he knew deep down, the love they had was not something that could end with a few words or emotion.

And that made it harder to carry on with his cold front. Harder to ignore him. Harder to hurt him.

As he looked at the emperor, he was forced to reflect on their first life, and could he say he bore no faults? The empress thought bitterly.

He had been loved so much, and for so long, that he never once thought to give it back. He had been spoiled by the emperor in their first life by his family, and then by the emperor, never once bearing any grievance. Adored without question. Protected without condition.