In the capital, the aristocracy favored playing Enemy's Chess or Captive's Chess, among which the former was governed by the rule that the esteemed party wielded the white pieces and moved first. Thus, Li Ce commanded the black. The chess pieces, like the tips of brushes soaked in ink, landed upon the immaculate, jade-like paper of the Chengxin Hall, where a grand painting was in progress. Mountains and forests, fishing villages and bustling markets, humble huts and simple abodes, the lives of common folk—all formed the vast tapestry of the Tang dynasty's sprawling realm. Yet here, the scene was veiled in boundless snow. Mist descended from the heavens, blanketing the peaks in pristine white; frozen rivers sealed off the fishing villages, streets emptied of passersby, and a chilling silence pervaded. Should the clouds thicken and the snow deepen, the painting would lose its scenic beauty, leaving only a pure expanse of white—spotless, but devoid of life.
Li Ce's move breathed vitality into the landscape: snow melting on the mountains to reveal dark rugged rock; rivers stirred by turbulent waves; birds soaring, fish leaping; a scholar cloaked in a heavy mantle teaching within the academy; a wisp of smoke curling from a mountain village; the footprints of a returning traveler tracing a path from the foot of the mountain to the doorstep, where a beloved wife and child awaited in blissful harmony. This was the vision Li Ce longed to witness—peaceful people, a prosperous and harmonious realm.
Ye Xi placed his piece. Black clouds oppressed the city as fierce snowflakes danced, armor gleamed sharply upon warriors, the wind howled, branches snapped, frost piled thick upon windowpanes, heavy snow crushed bridges—gradually covering, engulfing, overwhelming all. Cold. Though spring's warmth was at its peak, Li Ce felt an icy chill. The chess piece felt frigid; frost crept along his fingers, climbing his wrist and arm inch by inch, freezing his body solid.
In an instant, Li Ce was plunged into a nightmare, descending into the tomb passage from his seventh year—dark, frozen, lifeless, wrapped in cold so dense every step was arduous. Despair gnawed at his will, and the young boy bit his lip until it bled to rouse himself, forcing one step after another through the tomb's gloom.
With a sudden shake of his head, Li Ce banished the childhood specter. He drew a deep breath, inhaling the icy air, exhaling white mist. Clutching the chess piece in his right hand, he saw no path forward—only desolation, loneliness, and melancholy. Unconsciously, his left hand fell to his waist, searching, and touched the peach-shaped gold pendant. That was... Ye Jiao's—the gold she had tossed to him at their first meeting. He had melted it down himself and encased it in a peach pit she had given him upon their second encounter, forging the pendant. Grasping it was more than holding a waist ornament; it was seizing warmth, light, and the softest yet strongest part of his heart.
Li Ce held his breath, focusing his scattered spirit. The chess piece he placed sought a glimmer of life amidst the fragmented painting, the decayed empire—new willows budding by the riverbank, migratory birds crossing the sky, spring sprouts stirring in the fields, a stone shattering the frozen river ice. Soon, soon. If only given a little more time, if the chessboard's thirty-eight intersecting lines were just a bit larger, he could triumph.
Yet Ye Xi gazed at the board and declared, "You have lost."
Li Ce's piece had no moves left; the grand thousand-mile landscape was mostly buried beneath ice and snow. He returned the piece to the box, rose, and bowed, "Your Daoist skills are exquisite; I am deeply admiring."
"Do not call yourself 'your humble servant' again," Ye Xi lifted his gaze, his eyes sharp and piercing, tinged with coolness. "You are the ninth son of the current Sovereign, Prince of Chu, Li Ce."
Because of his rank, few dared address him by name directly. When the Emperor was pleased, he called him 'Little Nine.' When angry, the name Li Ce was uttered with a somber bitterness of unfulfilled expectations. Among his elder brothers, some used his name with feigned concern but more often with mockery and doubt. Ye Jiao had called him by his full name, her voice clear yet moist like boiling water over a campfire. Ye Xi's use of his name was scrutinizing—an appraisal laced with detachment and aloofness.
Li Ce was not cowed by this appraisal. He calmly allowed Ye Xi's inspection, his face devoid of smile but bearing the respect due to a senior.
"I shall no longer call myself 'your humble servant,'" Li Ce said. "Might I then address you as 'Uncle'?"
Ye Xi studied him deeply, his expression softening slightly. Rising, he approached the dimly lit window. After a long pause, he said, "Prince of Chu, your visit—what brings you here?"
Li Ce's voice was gentle, "I come as the fiancé of the second young lady of Duke An's household, to pay my respects."
He had come to meet his elder and his future father-in-law. Ye Xi glanced at him again, a smile touching his lips, yet laced with mockery: "You bring but a box of pastries?"
Though a challenge, this remark eased the tension between them. Li Ce placed the box of peach cakes on the small table by the window and said sincerely, "These peach cakes were crafted by the hands of Miss Ye of Duke An's household. I've heard she was tutored by you, Daoist, in culinary arts."
Ye Xi's expression flickered, his gaze settling on the character 'Fu' (Fortune) on the box. In that instant, his sword-like brows and proud nose softened. When he left home, Ye Rou was still young but fond of standing on stools to watch Ye Xi knead dough. Occasionally, she'd stretch out her tender hand, shaping a lump of dough, dipping it in sesame, eager to drop it into the hot oil. Ye Xi, fearing she might burn herself, decided teaching her the right method was better than constant vigilance. In truth, all he left his children was a ruined noble house and a recipe.
After a brief pause, Ye Xi untied the hemp cord around the box, removed the red paper, and opened it to reveal six neatly arranged peach cakes, each palm-sized and two fingers thick, golden with sesame sprinkled atop.
"Made with lard," Ye Xi said regretfully, shaking his head. He had been vegetarian for years, abstaining from meat and grease.
Li Ce felt slightly embarrassed, forced a smile, "Then let it be just a token for you to see. Next time I will remind Miss Ye to use pure oil."
Ye Xi shook his head, "Actually, I don't much care for peach cakes. The late Prince Chen favored them."
The late Prince Chen—Ye Xi's brother-in-law, who had been framed by the eldest prince, Lord Su Li Long, and executed by imperial decree. The feud between Duke An's household and the royal family stemmed from Prince Chen's fate. Li Ce's heart jolted, fingers instinctively clenched. Finally, he spoke of Prince Chen.
"Daoist, I wonder, as you cultivate in Jiangnan, if you have heard? The Sovereign has decreed a posthumous rehabilitation for Prince Chen. The true culprit, Lord Su Li Long, has been stripped of rank and confined for life."
Ye Xi did not answer Li Ce directly. Instead, he opened the window and began recounting Prince Chen's story.
"Prince Chen Li Qian loved dancing with his sword at dawn, favored mulberry wine, debated with namesakes and scholars, driving the hypocrites to madness. Yet he also enjoyed lying at home all day, studying the strokes of a character, pondering how to write with grace and ease. We were friends."
"I have heard a little," Li Ce replied.
Ye Xi watched the incense smoke rise to the sky and said faintly, "Together we slew giant serpents, sang the Qingping tune, and once stumbled drunk in the palace, supporting one another as we walked out."
"Uncle Chen was indeed free-spirited," Li Ce said.
Ye Xi shook his head, "Yet he once clashed with the late Emperor over grain storage, led northern campaigns pushing back the Turks hundreds of miles, and governed the court during the Emperor's illness. That year, the treasury was full, the people lived in peace."
He turned to Li Ce as if awaiting a response. Li Ce sighed, "Such a pity. Were it not for Li Long..."
"If not for Li Long, he would still be dead!" Ye Xi's voice flared with anger, his gaunt cheeks frosted with frost, his tone severe. "The ministers supported and obeyed him. The late Emperor intended to pass the throne to him. Yet, for possessing such virtue, even without Li Long, the Sovereign could not tolerate him!"
Li Ce was stunned, about to protest, but Ye Xi abruptly changed course: "Therefore, I oppose your marriage."
His marriage—Icy darkness swept over Li Ce's clear eyes.