Khanyi stood in the audience, not interrupting him, even though she was very familiar with the entire plot, having once been captivated by Wagner’s romantic dramas. This hall reminded her of the performances of that play, and this castle transported her into the world of the drama, blurring the lines between reality and illusion, reality and dreams.
The tall, handsome man with golden hair and blue eyes standing in the center of the stage resembled a noble knight in black. He stepped down from the stage, walking toward her step by step until he stood before her, lowering his head to gaze into her eyes, lowering his voice, “A god-like man and a mortal woman, a romantic longing and encounter, yet their love was doomed from the start, containing the seeds of tragedy. But they still needed and desired each other. Perhaps only Rebecca’s love could redeem him, and only his love could make her heart, already filled with love, feel it more vividly and truly.”
“That’s just your interpretation,” she averted her gaze from his. “I don’t have a deep understanding of Wagner’s dramas.”
“Alright, let’s go see the top floor.” He led her through the corridor, stopping beneath a portrait of a woman, gazing deeply into the blue eyes of the woman in the painting. “This is another woman related to him, another love story. She is Sophie Charlotte, the sister of the Austrian princess, who was once engaged to Ludwig II. They were recognized as a perfect couple, often dressing as the Swan Knight and Princess Rebecca, inseparable. But in the end, she married a duke.”
Khanyi looked at the portrait; the woman in the painting was entirely different from the noble, beautiful, serene, and slightly melancholic brown-haired woman before. She had a head of light golden waves, and her bright blue eyes sparkled like the sea, exuding a dreamlike charm, resembling a princess from a fairy tale.
He gazed at the woman in the painting for a while, seemingly lost in thought, then extended his left arm, signaling her to proceed down the left corridor. The corridor was dark, and she felt a bit anxious as she followed him, passing through a spiral staircase until he pushed open another door, and the entire world suddenly brightened again. They had reached the highest point of the castle.
The wind howled in her ears; this winter was very cold. The Swan Lake behind the castle was completely frozen, like a giant blue ice mirror, reflecting the beautiful illusion of Neuschwanstein.
“What a beautiful place, but unfortunately, every love legend about this castle ends in tragedy,” he said, lowering his gaze, staring at the pristine lake and the snow-capped peaks in the distance, the white snow covering the mountains matching the color of his eyes. “If only love in this world had no regrets…”
Khanyi shivered from the wind atop the tower. He glanced at her, removed his black wool cloak, and gently wrapped it around her. The heavy black cloak completely covered her petite frame, reaching his knees but falling below her calves, shielding her from the biting cold. She lowered her head, the wind making it hard for her to open her eyes, yet she did not resist as he tied the belt, for it was the first time she felt that this black uniform could bring a hint of warmth.
He appeared tall and thin in just a uniform coat, almost frail, with thick bandages wrapped around his arm, stained with spots of crimson blood, his light golden hair tousled by the wind.
“It’s too windy here; let’s go back,” she said, turning to slip through the iron door of the tower.
He followed her into the dark corridor, where he suddenly stopped, as if confessing something to her or speaking to himself, “Perhaps I have sold many things for profit, but I have always held onto love.”
Khanyi paused, lowering her head and quickening her pace, almost running down the spiral staircase. In the darkness, she could hide her inner unease. In fact, from the moment he brought her to this castle, she gradually began to believe in everything. She understood why that melancholic king, who always held onto romantic ideals, did not concern himself with politics and preferred to wander alone at night. This young monarch, so out of touch with the world, could connect so well with the iron-willed Chancellor Bismarck, for everyone has a castle in their heart, the purest and holiest realm like heaven.
Khanyi returned to the golden hall ahead of him. He walked toward her from the corridor, looking at her and saying, “Tonight we will stay here; the steward has prepared a room for us. Soon, he will take you to your room. Of course, there are many stories in this castle and many places worth seeing…”
