Since the banquet at the Song residence, Nan Zhilan had seen the Crown Prince in his full majesty. The sight had only sharpened her determination to take up a place in the Eastern Palace. If looks could win a heart, then she could rely on her own means to make the prince hers.
But resemblance alone was not the same as being the former crown princess.
If she, Nan Zhilan, entered the household and played her cards right, she told herself, there was no reason the prince’s affections wouldn’t fall to her. Brimful of resolve, she straightened her handkerchief and went back to the Song residence.
She arrived to find the gate empty. The doorman said Miss Song had gone to Xiangguo Temple to pay her respects. Nan Zhilan wasted no time and hurried after her.
At last she found Ningyue in the rear courtyard. Ningyue returned her bow coolly and, offering little more, moved to leave.
Nan Zhilan seized her sleeve. “Do you even know why the Crown Prince married you?”
Ningyue’s smile was a blade. “What good does knowing do? Whether I know or not—either way, I am the future crown princess.”
“Best you keep to things that suit you,” Nan Zhilan said, as if offering advice. Then, as if remembering something, Ningyue added, voice low and clear, “Remember this: I will not give Mingye to anyone. I will not share him.”
Nan Zhilan recoiled from that tone as if struck. “He will be emperor one day! Why would he leave his harem empty for you?”
If she couldn’t be empress, being a noble consort would do. A man as upright and luminous as him would be the finest of husbands. To be his favored concubine—what more could one want? But Ningyue’s words chilled Nan Zhilan’s heart.
“That’s between him and me. What’s it got to do with you, Nan Zhilan?” Ningyue said.
“You’re just a substitute! Song Jinyu’s substitute! Who do you think you are?” The words hit Nan Zhilan like knives; she lost control.
Ningyue’s laugh was ice. She delivered a sharp slap that sent Nan Zhilan’s face twisting aside. “Whether you’re a substitute isn’t for you to decide! What are you—daring to behave like a dog in front of me?”
Her eyes went hard. From her sleeve her hand slipped a long, thin needle. She stepped closer, the weapon’s tip glinting. “Don’t let me hear that word again.”
Nan Zhilan froze and sank to the ground. She did not dare move. Ningyue’s expression had gone stone-cold. Fortunately, Lady Xiang stepped forward then and broke the tension.
But Nan Zhilan was not done. Even on the floor she tried to sow discord. “The Crown Prince and the late crown princess were deeply attached—this face of yours is just a resemblance to Song Jinyu.”
Ningyue halted like a struck bell. “Then I count myself fortunate. You needn’t trouble yourself.”
She left without another word. This time Nan Zhilan got nothing—her cheeks burned with fury and humiliation.
Outside the temple, Lady Xiang noticed Ningyue’s sour face and tried to comfort her. “Don’t mind such talk.”
“It’s not that, sister-in-law,” Ningyue said softly. “I pity Zhongli Mingye.”
Lady Xiang frowned. “He holds all the power—what could he lack?”
“But he stumbled and fell for me,” Ningyue whispered. Her voice carried a conviction that sounded almost like destiny: as if he had chosen her and only her.
Lady Xiang smiled. “Instead of praising him, why not learn more about your past with him?” she suggested. “If you understand the past, you’ll see why he was so devoted to Song Jinyu. Their history was brilliant, perfect in a way no outsider can wedge into.”
Ningyue let out a long breath. “I don’t remember much of the past. Maybe I never will.”
Niaoniao, who had come along, sat with her and began to tell their story in the smallest, truest details: how they had met, how they had grown to know and love one another. She spoke of Tianmen Mountain, of Master and Yan Fei, of Wen Sirong—the names made Ningyue’s eyes cloud over. She had forgotten them all.
Niaoniao mentioned Ouyang Jinse and how that man had driven Ningyue to leap into the river and leave with her memory washed away. She told of how Zhongli Mingye had avenged her, of the plots to seize the prince’s position. They had been through light and darkness together—joyous moments and dreadful ones—but each piece belonged to them alone.
Hearing it, Ningyue felt a new emptiness: if she could not recover those memories, how great a pity her life would be. The third day of the fourth month was the day she had once married him as a princess—he had chosen that very day again.
She twisted a lock of hair and looked out the window. Sparrows chattered in the branches; the moon laid a sheet of silver on the courtyard. Footsteps approached. Ningyue did not turn. She already knew who it was.
“You’re here,” Zhongli Mingye said when he reached her. He looped an arm around her and held her close. “I can’t bear to be apart.”
“Only a few nights until the wedding.” Ningyue’s eyes shone. She had missed him too. Niaoniao’s words had explained that, at first, he had been careful not to reveal that she was Song Jinyu—partly to spare her pain if memories returned, partly to see if she could love him without the past. Would she still have loved him if the past had never been restored?
She turned and rose on her toes, pressing a soft kiss to his cool lips.
The kiss flamed through him. He curled his large hand into the nape of her neck and deepened it until her face was flushed and shy. He let her go with a teasing reprimand. “You’ve grown bolder.”
“Picked it up from you,” she shot back, matching him. They stood in one another’s arms as the candlelight stretched their shadows across the room, bodies and silhouettes entwined.
“In a few days, after the wedding, we’ll enter the Eastern Palace together. This world, I will share with you,” Zhongli Mingye murmured into her ear—both a promise and a love confession.
Ningyue studied him. “Today, Nan Zhilan called me Song Jinyu’s substitute.”
“And how did you answer?”
“I said I was honored to be her substitute.” She teased him, and he laughed, ruffling the small bump of her nose. “I am honored to be your wife.”
Nan Zhilan could not contain her resentment. Back home, Madam Nan tried to soothe her. “The Crown Prince’s wedding is at hand—of course he can’t tend to every little flirtation.”
“You’re getting worked up for nothing,” Madam Nan scolded gently, watching her daughter lose her temper.
“Mother, you won’t believe it—when I spoke with Song Ningyue today, she forbade the prince from taking concubines.”
Madam Nan scoffed. “Is that so? Since when have princes gone without concubines? She must be blustering.”
Nan Zhilan’s mind turned like a wheel. Whether or not Ningyue forbade concubines was one thing—what if the prince himself decided to take other consorts? That possibility gave her a plan.
At the Song residence, Zhongli Mingye’s gaze was steady as he took Ningyue’s hands. “In this life, whether you’re Song Jinyu or Song Ningyue, you are my wife—my only wife.”
To Ningyue, it sounded like the most beautiful thing she had ever heard.
He hesitated, then asked with sudden frankness the question that had been weighing on him. “Do you love me? Now—without the past—do you love me?”
Their earlier love had been entangled with vengeance, with pledges and a marriage bestowed by decree. Those emotions had been fierce and unfiltered, but they’d been mixed with the world’s cruelties. Now that she’d returned without her memories, he wanted a quieter reassurance.
Ningyue smiled at him with a kind, almost teasing affection. “If it weren’t for you, why would I have let you use me so freely at the Prince of Yu’s residence?” she said. She thought it odd sometimes that she had always obeyed him so willingly.
“The first time I saw you, I thought you were very handsome.” Her cheeks warmed. “Later, I felt something different—something I couldn’t explain. I found myself looking forward to seeing you.”
That admission delighted Zhongli Mingye. Had they been anywhere but the Song household, he might not have restrained himself.
Ningyue remembered then and continued: “Back then, the pavilion master said I was his fiancée and treated me well. The deputy leader tricked me—actually, that was part of a plan I had to leave the Tingran Pavilion. He was killed by my own hand in the end; even then, I refused to marry him.”
“Why?” Zhongli prompted.
“Because I didn’t like him.” The answer was simple, honest.
Zhongli Mingye held her and felt his unrest settle. He had been searching for that certainty, and in her small, stubborn truth he found it.