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墨書 Inktalez
A loud crash echoed through the hall as an unidentified object struck the Celadon Vase across the room, shattering it into pieces. The fragments scattered on the floor, mirroring his expression—broken and sorrowful.
"Find this Swaying in Green Robes. There is no time to waste; I want results within a month, at most. If you can't find anything, bring me their head. I need to know who this Swaying in Green Robes is! Who are they?!" Sima Rui's face was ashen. For some reason, he felt an inexplicable sense of familiarity with the figure who painted The Affairs of Women in the Harem. He sensed a connection to Little Jin, believing that this person might hold some truths.
Why did that woman from the painting seem so familiar? Every smile and frown, including her disguise, her outward humility, and her cleverness—all felt so recognizable. Consort Huan was absolutely right; that person evoked a deep sense of familiarity within him. Yet, he couldn't pinpoint what that familiarity truly was.
Chen Wen observed his furious master and the vividly colored painting thrown on the ground. Bowing his head, he replied, "Yes, I understand." In an instant, a dark figure vanished into the night.
The vast hall was left with only Sima Rui's solitary shadow lost in thought. After a long while, he raised his head and called out to the entrance, "Come in."
"Yes," came a response from outside as Gao Lu entered with a bow.
"Your Majesty, what are your orders?"
"Draft an edict for me. Place a nationwide bounty on the capture of the court criminal Swaying in Green Robes. We cannot overlook any suspicious individuals," Sima Rui's fists were clenched tightly. This audacious individual usually avoided confrontation with him, but now that it involved serious matters, he couldn't be blamed for being cold-hearted.
"Understood, Old Servant will carry out your command." Just as Gao Lu stepped out of the hall, a hurried voice called from behind him: "Remember to capture them alive. No harm must come to them."
"Old Servant knows."
A slightly weary voice followed: "You may leave now; I need to rest."
Gao Lu paused for a moment. "Does Your Majesty wish for any entertainment tonight?"
After hesitating for a while, Sima Rui finally spoke: "No need; you may go."
Sima Rui rubbed his forehead, which felt like it might crack from pain. After returning home drunk that day, he hadn't had a chance to rest and had to rush through piles of documents that had accumulated since his departure. Thus, he had yet to find time for proper rest until now.
Finally finishing the Official Business, he couldn't shake off a sense of doubt as he glanced at the comic. The woman depicted seemed oddly familiar, her carefree and bold demeanor reminding him of Little Jin. Yet, her deliberate humility in front of the powerful and the emperor contrasted sharply with another person he should have forgotten long ago. The mention of Consort Huan and the peculiarities in that book brought her back to his mind.
In the mirror, Crimson Face City looked desolate, unaware of when it would face its downfall.
The vast sea stretches long, and time flows without a trace.
Alas, in this world, who is reborn for whom?
In the hazy darkness, I seemed to see a beam of light on the horizon. I reached out to walk toward it, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't reach it. It was so close yet utterly untouchable.
How strange.
I remembered sitting alone at my desk, copying some calligraphy from the most popular calligrapher, Wang Xizhi. Speaking of him, I wondered if Brother Three was enjoying himself with them while wandering through mountains, drinking wine, and composing poetry.
Just as I was lost in my writing, a figure suddenly burst in. A refreshing scent filled my nostrils, and then my body swayed before everything went dark.
In the blurred haze, I seemed to hear a few people murmuring. I recognized the voices of Azure Thorn and Xiao Quanzi, along with Suda expressing impatience. They mentioned that I had been sleepless for days and was too exhausted; since other methods weren't working, they had no choice but to use this coercive method to help me sleep—something akin to a sedative? But it reminded me of modern-day kidnapping tactics.
I wanted to speak up or protest, but my voice vanished before it could escape my throat.
I felt as if I were caught between dreams and reality. Though I hadn't awakened, my mind was aware of many things—even the chaotic world of Dream felt somewhat real. That beam of light was beautiful like an angel's halo.
But it wasn't mine because I couldn't touch it or grasp it.
In the mirror, in the mirror—Crimson Face City looked desolate.
In an unknown time, the words echoed—"The sky is barren, the sky is barren"—a voice, aged and weary, sang this refrain. The sound was trapped in the surroundings, creating an endless echo that lingered in my mind.
The night had deepened, and Sima Rui found himself unable to control his feet, unknowingly walking to this place.
Inside the room, there seemed to be a faint glow, unlike the light of a candle. The surroundings were quiet, so quiet that it felt wrong to disturb the tranquility of the night.
For some reason, despite the many rooms around, he was certain that this was where she resided. In the most inconspicuous and remote corner. The eunuchs who usually served had vanished. The mad consorts who often filled the air with their chatter were nowhere to be found.
Though it felt strange, Sima Rui decided to step inside.
In the stillness, her sleeping face was serene, revealing a delicate neck. Her eyelashes fluttered lightly as she dreamed. She had a petite nose and chin, with small lips that looked slightly pouted—adorable. As Sima Rui entered and approached the inner room, he was greeted by this beautiful sight. For the first time, he looked at her so earnestly and so closely that he found himself momentarily lost in thought. Her skin was fair with a hint of rosy hue, almost translucent enough to see the blood beneath. After such a long time apart, it seemed she had become even more beautiful. Yet he had never truly taken the time to appreciate her.
Except for that night when she seductively stood on stage, captivating every pair of eyes below. In an instant, a surge of anger ignited within him; it felt as if something that belonged to him was being stolen away. The mere thought of that loss brought him pain.
Thus, in a frenzy, he had claimed her. Even now, he remembered her cold expression as she stumbled away from him and her indifferent words.
Thinking of those moments caused a pang in his heart.
Sima Rui shifted his gaze and examined the small room.
The light he had seen upon entering was indeed not from candles but from countless Night Pearls embedded in the walls beneath heavy drapes. At that moment, the pearls sparkled in the deep night, their glow softened by the fabric's barrier—not glaring but rather an elegant and serene luminescence that filled the entire room.
It was as if thousands of fireflies were dancing about—a mesmerizing sight amidst swirling mists.
In the entire room, the most striking feature was the rattan flower and sandalwood carved table in front of the window. The table was surrounded by intricate carvings and had a large, smooth surface that felt both familiar and different from what he remembered in the Imperial Study.
At that moment, a neatly arranged piece of calligraphy and a blank sheet of paper lay on the table. The blank paper bore a few characters, likely left behind when someone had grown tired while practicing their writing and gone to bed.
Sima Rui stepped forward, curious, and picked it up. It was Wang Xizhi's "Preface to the Orchid Pavilion Gathering."
In an inconspicuous corner of the table, a particularly small notebook caught Sima Rui's attention.
Driven by curiosity, he reached out to take it and opened it. Just as he was about to flip through its pages, a soft sound came from the woman sleeping quietly nearby. Startled, Sima Rui's hand trembled, nearly causing the notebook to slip from his grasp. He glanced at the person on the bed, who was soundly asleep.
As an emperor, Sima Rui had never encountered such an awkward situation; everything in the palace belonged to him, and he had never felt this kind of guilt before.
Sima Rui's gaze sharpened as he slowly opened the notebook. It was a journal, seemingly new, with only a few pages filled. The entries were not daily records nor meticulously written; rather, they reflected a mastery of calligraphy and fluctuations of emotion, with no two entries alike.
Some characters were neat, others slightly messy; some flowed gracefully while others appeared to have been smudged unintentionally. Overall, the handwriting was elegant and refined, resembling flowing clouds and water—unlike the formal style typically seen but possessing its own charm.
There were reflections on life, records of trivial matters, encounters at certain moments, insights gained from reading, and even some peculiar poems written by the author. Additionally, there were many expressions of longing for certain things.
"Today I was unjustly punished; worse still, I was trampled underfoot, forced to kneel before them with my proud posture bent low. I lowered my head with a cold smile while my demeanor grew even more humble. This woman, who relies on another's power to survive—bullying others with her influence—feels no sorrow but instead harbors joy. To lose oneself for a fleeting moment of favor and to fight desperately for just one more glance from that person is truly tragic and pitiable!"
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