Chapter 46: Darkness Beneath the Lamp (III)

An Zhitinglan was a residence nestled among the waterways and small bridges of the southern lands, its enclosing wall not particularly high. One would need a ladder to climb over, but Chunmo did not believe such a modest stone wall could keep her out. Yet Daidai came to a halt before it. She stood on the flagstone path at the entrance, gazing at the palace like a pet abandoned by its master—matted fur, a bleeding broken leg, eyes dimmed and obscured by rain. Step by step, it traced the path from memory, searching, but the master had long since driven away. When at last it found the master’s scent after traversing mountains and rivers, it discovered a new favorite in its master’s arms.

The master was its whole world, but to the master, it was merely a diversion.

So pitiful—who would come to pick it up?

Qiuyun and the others tried to approach, only to find they could not get near her. Above Daidai’s head, thunder and lightning swirled, forming an aurora-like vortex.

Naturally, An Zhitinglan had its gatekeepers. Any sign of celestial anomaly was to be reported to the mistress. But when the eunuch on duty saw who stood at the gate, he hesitated, wondering if the empress was staging a ruse. He, being just a minor servant, dared not take responsibility and hurried off to report to the chief palace maid.

The emperor had ignored their mistress for more than a month, and now that things seemed to be changing for the better, nobody in the palace wished to disrupt her happiness. But even the chief maid dared not make this decision. After a moment’s hesitation, she mentioned it to Li Fuquan. The old steward’s heart quailed at the sight of the fierce lightning outside, and upon learning it was Daidai at the gate, a sense of foreboding struck him again. Loyal at heart, he gritted his teeth and kept the matter secret.

Inside the sleeping chambers, the curtains were drawn, and that small, private world was already filled with passion. Thunder crashed at his ear, yet he wore a smile, indifferent and detached.

Every strike of lightning seemed to awaken a memory. Daidai smiled, while Qiuyun wept uncontrollably. Never in her life had she known a person’s smile could bring such searing pain.

When the storm finally passed, Daidai, soaked through, lay quietly on the ground. Below her formed a pool of rainwater, her gauzy dress clinging to her skin, merging with the water and slowly blooming outward.

The imperial serpent, battered and dispirited by the rain, had not left Daidai’s side for a moment. When she lay down, it too curled itself up, lowering its head in silence.

Within the bedchamber, he had already removed the consort’s embroidered undergarment. The woman he cherished was aroused, her red lips murmuring words of love. Yet in his heart, there was not the faintest ripple. He smiled with the detachment of a Buddha, lifting a flower with his fingertips.

“Ah Ye,” the consort whispered, wrapping her pale arms around his neck and pulling him close, her breathy moans full of delight.

Outside the palace doors, Daidai, gazing up at the palace, quietly collapsed the instant he kissed another. Her eyes welled with tears, bright with grief.

Her fingers dug into the flagstones, layer upon layer of dust darkening her wounds, blood flowing until flesh and color blurred together.

If you leaned close to her lips, you’d hear her repeating over and over, “Longing, yet never attaining… longing, yet never attaining…”

In that instant, her obsession and unwillingness reached their peak. Her eyes grew ever more crimson, and a faint, almost ethereal, ink-black birthmark appeared between her brows.

He threw on his robe and stood at the window, gazing in Daidai’s direction. The consort slid from the bed, her eyes still hazy with passion. She had already learned of the scene outside from the palace maid, and felt a touch of smugness in her heart. Yet as she leaned gently against Ji Ye’s shoulder, she sighed, “Ah Ye, this is what I most dreaded. Now that I have you, the others—like the empress—are so pitiable. I never wished to be a sinner, but I suppose I’ll have to find ways to make it up to them in the future.” She spoke with such generosity, kindness, melancholy, and helplessness.

“I tried to push you away, but I couldn’t do it. Every time I see you, my heart aches and I am torn. Ah Ye, can you understand? Can you forgive me for keeping my distance before?”

Ji Ye gave a low chuckle, then burst out laughing, his face full of mockery. The consort’s heart fluttered guiltily, certain her ploys had been laid bare. Yet she believed she had recaptured the old feeling of love, so how could he have seen through her? Impossible! She knew him better than anyone, and tonight she had played her part flawlessly.

“Daidai, do you understand? Do you understand?!” he shouted, suddenly pushing the consort aside and sweeping out of the room.

He shoved her so hard that she stumbled into the window, her arm instantly numb and aching, her face flushing and paling in disbelief as she stared after him, before chasing after in panic.

Outside, Daidai too burst into wild laughter, reckless and unrestrained. Her jewel-bright eyes glowed red, each step a stagger through the rain, water splashing everywhere.

He emerged from the palace, his clothes in disarray, chest bare. Her silk robe soaked and clinging, she seemed stripped of every scale, left only a fragile, vulnerable body of flesh.

“Daidai, do you understand?” The rain had cleared, and a wan half-moon hung from the eaves. In the pale moonlight, he clenched his fists and stared at Daidai, as if trying to nail her to his heart.

So close, yet worlds apart.

Daidai wiped the rain from her face and, summoning all her strength, forced a laugh. “My king, what do you want me to understand? That she is love, and I am but a seductive temptation to you? That she is the path, and I am your desire—an obstacle that must be destroyed? What else do you want me to understand? Say it, and I will. Very well, my king, I understand. Are you satisfied? Go pursue your transcendence, and I shall remain a demon. What concern is it of yours if I live as a demon? Why meddle in my affairs? My king, my king for whom I have guarded the Dharma, let me tell you: as long as my soul endures, the man in my desire will always be you. If you despise me for sullying your sanctity, then destroy me with your own hands, will you?”

Daidai stepped forward, embracing him, then slowly slid down to clutch his leg, her enchanting face full of provocative allure. “My king, I am willing to scatter into ashes in your hands.”

She looked up at him, her smile blooming with the most beautiful defiance.

“Wretched creature!” His mind was chaos, his mouth and actions no longer his own. He seemed a jade statue, guided by invisible strings.

“Yet this wretched creature is the fruit of your own doing, my king. Please, end this consequence swiftly.” She lay at his feet, laughing bitterly, her elongated shadow curled up, trembling in pain.

He became like a wrathful guardian deity, seizing her wrist and flinging her aside in a fit of rage.

“Enraged, are you? Even you can be driven to shame and anger?” Daidai rolled across the ground, then lay still. The imperial serpent circled Ji Ye, spitting venom, its tense head poised like an arrow, ready to strike his throat at any moment.

He trembled, retreating, as if terrified of that hideous beast.

“Guards! Protect the king!” he bellowed.

At that moment, the consort rushed to the door, one hand bracing herself on the frame, panting harshly. “Ah Ye!”

“Protect the king! Hurry!” He had lost all composure, like a trapped beast in a cage.

The consort added her cries, “Quick, protect the king!”

Li Fuquan was nearly stupefied, clumsily shouting, “Protect the king—!”

The clash of armor and swords drew nearer, boots striking the stone with icy indifference.

Watching him, Daidai’s smile vanished, her face drawn with self-loathing sorrow. “You are not him. He sits high on the lotus throne, unmoved by joy or sorrow. But you—what are you? Nothing but a lingering remnant he wishes to eradicate.”

She almost laughed at her own blind attachment.

“My king, do you know the greatest sorrow of a demon?”

“You brought this upon yourself, tangled in your own troubles. Wretched creature, do you understand?” The imperial guards were arrayed around them; he looked down and questioned her again.

Is that really the empress? The consort was stunned. She dared call Ah Ye ‘nothing’? No, no, she must be dreaming. She understood not a word of their cryptic exchange. What riddles were they playing?

“My king, I understand now. I know the greatest sorrow of a demon—it is the highest wisdom of humanity. Yet I can never overcome it. My king, let me give you the chance to destroy me. Do not waste your effort on me; I am rotten wood, incapable of revival.”

She rose, and under the moonlight danced, her movements supple as a spirit snake.

Thus, the great palace, sealed by the imperial guards, was invaded by giant pythons. Wherever they passed, sand and stones flew, trees snapped in droves.

They came from mountain and valley, awaiting her command.

The imperial guards froze in terror. Before they could restore order, eunuchs and maids screamed and fled. Ji Ye finally regained his voice, commanding harshly, “Protect the king! Ready your bows—kill them all!”

The black python crouched at Daidai’s feet, inviting her to ride upon its head. She accepted, laughing with a sound more beautiful than jade chimes, yet it left the consort and others limp with fear, some so terrified they lost control of their bodies.

But the imperial guards were not weak. Soon archers were summoned, and a rain of cold, gleaming arrows fell. The black python carrying Daidai was unafraid—its scales harder than tempered iron, the arrows no more than a tickle.

“You Daidai, what is it you want?” He clasped his hands behind his back, striving to remain calm, voice thundering.

“My king, I am weary of this deadlock. I wish to break it and help you ascend to new heights—why is that not enough?”

“I do not understand your words.”

“She’s a demon—!” the consort screamed.

“A demon?”

“Yes—a demon—!”

At last, the truth was spoken. Daidai patted the snake’s head, signaling it to let her down, and with a gentle wave, bid farewell to the spirits of the mountains and valleys.

She had come like a hurricane, and so she left.

After the final thunderclap, all was silent, save for the arrowheads scattered across the flagstones, glowing faintly.

The guards surged forward, long spears with crimson tassels aimed at Daidai. With a single order from Ji Ye, this demon would surely be slain on the spot.

“Kill her, Ah Ye, kill her!” the consort shrieked, losing all composure.

Ji Ye’s head throbbed with pain; he feebly waved for someone to escort the consort away. He spoke coolly, “Take her to the sky prison.”

Daidai gazed at him, smiling like a flower. Her lips moved, silent: “I’m done playing.”

With the threat gone, he swiftly reclaimed his voice and imperial bearing, a cold smile on his lips. “Do you imagine you have a choice? Take her away!”

Author’s note: The 28th.