They said I was lucky.
She became a queen at the age of sixteen, a blessing that no one could ask for.
But they didn't know that on the wedding night, he lifted my hijab and went to the imperial study room.
They don't know how many bowls of bitter medicine I drank. I looked forward to letters every month, but my hopes failed every year.
They don't know how many wine glasses I knocked over that night in Tumu Castle, how long I knelt in the rain, and melted boxes of dowries into silver, just begging him to come back alive.
They didn't know that in Nangong Ba's eighth year, I never dared to make a sound when I cried at night, for fear that he would be annoyed if he heard me.
My left eye went blind from crying, my legs were broken from kneeling, and I finally waited for him to come back.
But his first imperial edict after his restoration was to abolish the queen.
The reason is three words: nothing.
When I was kneeling in the snow to receive the order, he rushed out and grabbed my hand.
He said that it was his own choice to be captured.
He said that he used himself as a bargaining chip, betting that the civil and military forces of the entire dynasty would not dare to give up on him.
For fifteen years, I have never been waiting for the second position.
What I was waiting for was for him to look back at me.
But it turns out that I was never in his eyes.
I let go of his hand and limped out of the palace.
His voice came from behind, with a crying tone:
"Qian, you clearly know... I won't let you go."
I paused.
Then keep walking.
Until those words caught up with me in the snow and hit me on the back:
"I... I'm sorry for you."
I turned back.
