Chapter 32: Parallel Sorrows

Ice spread from Feng Xiyang's feet to her skull—a cold so profound it burned. Pain seared from throat to stomach as if she'd swallowed poison. The words were a fatal blow.

She trembled involuntarily, voice breaking. "Then why don't you marry her?"

Xia Jingshi appeared equally stunned by his own cruelty. After a long silence, the fierce fire in his eyes slowly extinguished, leaving only ash. He laughed bitterly—a sound devoid of humor. "Often, fate is simply like that. Only the person who experiences those defining moments with you can truly enter your life. After that, no matter how many others come along—if you've missed those moments, you've missed them for a lifetime."

As he spoke, his composure gradually reasserted itself, emotions locked away behind familiar walls. "This might sound cruel and selfish, but you need to understand—even without Yixiao, this political marriage wouldn't bring happiness to either of us. However, I can promise you'll be the only mistress here with full authority over the household. As for material comforts—food, clothing, luxuries—as long as it's within my means, you may ask for anything."

Xiyang shuddered. Her voice emerged barely audible. "If it were for those things, why would I need to marry into Jinxiu? If it were merely for political alliance, I could have married the Holy Emperor himself." Her nails, digging into the bed frame, broke with soft cracks—but that pain was negligible compared to the agony in her chest. "Is love that comes easily not worth cherishing at all?"

"Perhaps I should ask you—" Xia Jingshi's voice grew colder, more distant. "Why did you insist on marrying me specifically? In the wars between Jinxiu and Susha, thousands of Susha soldiers died by my hand. The soldiers who perished under my command number in the tens of thousands." His gaze pinned her with uncomfortable directness. "Why were you so certain I would treat you well, much less fall in love with you?"

Feng Xiyang's eyes widened with dawning horror. She wanted to respond, to defend her naive hopes—but couldn't produce a single word.

"Forget it. Get some rest." Xia Jingshi turned gracefully toward the door, offering no opportunity for her to plead for him to stay, to explain, to salvage anything from this wreckage.

Feng Xiyang watched blankly as his silhouette disappeared behind the closing door. Her eyes filled with misty haze and hollowed-out disappointment that seemed to consume her from within.

Why? The question echoed endlessly. I simply wanted to love him.

She closed her eyes wearily, accepting the bitter truth: in this game called love, whoever speaks of it first loses their heart immediately. Before it even began, she had already lost completely.

And yet... despite everything... she found even this pain somehow sweet.

---

Prince's Residence, Susha

Rain splashed in steady rhythm. Pale flowers washed from their branches by water streaming from eaves. The golden-threaded bird in its ornate cage hopped restlessly in damp air, agitated by atmospheric pressure.

Fu Yixiao stood silently in the corridor, watching rain curtain the world beyond, her skirt fluttering in wind-borne moisture. Her gaze appeared distant, desolate—fixed on something beyond visible reality.

After the wedding ceremony, she'd moved into Prince Feng Suige's residence. The various buildings here displayed orderly arrangement—elegant bamboo houses, waterside pavilions, multi-storied structures. Everything contrasted sharply with the Water Painting Garden's delicate aesthetic, lacking that former space's comfort and ease.

Feng Suige hadn't shown his face for several days. Servants whispered and speculated about why the Prince had neglected his new bride on the second day of marriage, spending nights with his former favorite performers instead. Even Yun Yi—who had caused such scandal at the wedding—had received only verbal reprimand before freely entering and exiting the Prince's residence again.

But neglect was merely neglect, a predictable consequence. Setting aside Feng Suige's public declaration at the wedding, Fu Yixiao's dramatic rise from prisoner to the Prince's secondary consort demonstrated that he'd invested considerable political capital in her elevation. Her current lack of favor didn't preclude future reversal of fortune. Therefore, none of the servants in the Prince's residence dared display overt arrogance toward her—she remained dangerous, potentially powerful, worth treating with cautious respect.

A gust of wind disrupted rain threads and pearl curtains hanging under eaves. Fu Yixiao stepped back slightly, avoiding droplets that flew toward her position. Her lips suddenly parted, revealing a brilliant smile that held notes of wonder and melancholy.

I never knew that watching rain from under eaves could be so beautiful. The observation struck her with unexpected force. Rain threads falling from the sky seem to carry desperate desire, plunging in multitudes toward earth before disappearing completely.

If only human troubles could be absorbed entirely by soil along with the rain—how wonderful that would be.

---

Because of the downpour, Feng Suige hadn't ventured out today. At this moment, he stood by the half-closed window of his study, watching her from afar with conflicted intensity.

He hadn't set foot in the bridal chamber for several consecutive days. During daylight hours, he remained occupied with governmental affairs and military inspections. At night, he sought distraction in wine and entertainment—yes, he couldn't stop moving for even a moment. Any leisure time and his mind filled with her cold pronouncement: "This is just a game, it has nothing to do with feelings."

When those words had struck him, he'd stood nearly paralyzed. Perhaps he'd spoken inappropriately first, provoked her defensive response. But seeing Yixiao's icy, thorny gaze—that deliberate emotional distance—helplessness had flooded his entire being.

Was this what love meant? If the other person doesn't reciprocate, no matter how well-intentioned your actions, they won't accept them. Thinking that all his tender consideration couldn't earn even one genuine smile from her, Feng Suige had finally lost patience and walked away, retreating to familiar comforts that demanded nothing emotionally.

Lightning flashed across the sky. Rolling thunder seemed to strike directly into Feng Suige's chest, each beat painfully distinct. Why can't I treat her with calm detachment? Not only my mind but my very heart suffers.

He resented that woman standing under the eaves—resented how she consistently controlled his emotional state, denying him peace. Part of him wanted to destroy her with his own hands, and then... there was no "then." At that point, he would likely destroy himself alongside her.

He hadn't been wrong that day. She was indeed a poisonous flower—brilliant, strange, lethally dangerous. That utterly toxic beauty had completely corroded his heart. Even knowing she remained heartless toward him, he found himself unable to let go.

Suddenly, Feng Suige's eyes narrowed with sharp focus. After a single glance, he moved rapidly toward the door.

---

A vague sense of presence stirred the vigilance Fu Yixiao had cultivated during wartime. She withdrew from scattered contemplation and turned her head slightly, gaze settling on a corner not far distant.

Her again.

Realizing she'd been discovered so quickly, Yun Yi appeared momentarily surprised. But she quickly adopted an unconcerned expression and approached with deliberate slowness.

She had dressed elaborately for this encounter—wearing a headdress of eight treasures and pearls, a long gown of five-colored embroidered spring silk. The hem featured silk tassels and jade pendants that chimed musically with each movement. Her expression projected arrogance, as if she were the Prince's legitimate wife bearing official seals rather than a discarded favorite.

"Sister seems to have become rather haggard lately." Yun Yi stopped beside Yixiao, deliberately examining her with critical assessment. "The Prince is really... you're already husband and wife, what is there to quarrel about? When he visits Yun Yi's quarters at night, Yun Yi will speak on sister's behalf..."

"What did you call me?" Yixiao's voice cut with aristocratic hauteur. "Who granted you special permission to forgo bowing when you see me?"

Yun Yi's fury manifested instantly. Her complexion shifted through several shades before she finally swallowed rage and knelt with poor grace. "This concubine Yun Yi greets the Prince's consort."

But Yixiao felt no inclination toward mercy. She said with studied indifference, "I'm not the Prince's principal wife. I'm merely a secondary consort who lost favor immediately after the wedding ceremony."

Yun Yi was forced to bow again, grinding out words. "This concubine Yun Yi greets the secondary consort."

"You may rise." Yixiao's smile held no warmth whatsoever. "What were you saying just now? Please continue."

Yun Yi stood, teeth visibly clenched. She sneered with poorly concealed venom. "Actually, it's nothing significant. I merely worried that the secondary consort might still harbor resentment about those two whip lashes Yun Yi administered previously. So I thought I'd visit to pay respects. But surely, with the secondary consort's elevated position, you won't quibble over past matters with someone as lowly as Yun Yi!"

Yixiao laughed softly—then struck with lightning speed, slapping Yun Yi hard across the face. The woman hadn't anticipated sudden physical retaliation and had no opportunity to dodge. She staggered backward several steps before regaining footing, deep finger marks already blooming across her left cheek.

As if having touched something contaminated, Yixiao lifted her skirt to wipe her palm before looking up with cold amusement. "You should have understood long ago that I'm not nobly born. I always intended to settle this particular debt. But since you've taken the trouble to deliver yourself to my door, there's no need for whips. Come here—one more slap and we'll call it even."

Shock and fury warred across Yun Yi's features. Though Fu Yixiao hadn't drawn a bow for years, her inherent strength remained formidable. The previous blow had nearly rendered her unconscious. She covered her swelling cheek with venomous expression. "Fu Yixiao, even if you've been made secondary consort, there will still be a primary wife above you. Moreover, you're just low-born, a fickle woman who jumps from bed to bed. The Prince is merely indulging in your novelty temporarily. Don't think too highly of yourself!"

Yixiao maintained that faintly amused, languid expression. "No need to remind me. I remember my position every moment."

Yun Yi turned her head and spat. "Who do you think you—"

"What's all this commotion about?" Feng Suige's voice suddenly cut through the confrontation.

Yun Yi startled, immediately adopting a tearful performance. She threw herself toward Feng Suige with dramatic desperation. "Prince, Yun Yi only wanted to keep the Prince's consort company, but she struck me without provocation. Look at my face..."

Shifting his gaze from the composed Yixiao, Feng Suige caught Yun Yi's falling form, lifting her face to examine the marks with apparent concern. "Yun Yi, you don't understand." His voice remained gentle—dangerously so. "It's easy to make Fu Yixiao understand her position. But do you comprehend yours?"

Before Yun Yi could process the question, he seized her hair brutally and drove his fist into her stomach. She collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony, face contorted with shock and betrayal.

"I've stated before—" Feng Suige's voice emerged cold as winter stone. "Fu Yixiao is my consort. Whoever dares insult her will face consequences."

He slowly placed his foot upon her face in deliberate humiliation.

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