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Watching people leave one by one until only she remained—just the thought of it was terrifying.

Fawei was only sixteen years old. At sixteen, life should be vibrant, with different people entering her world and weaving various stories. But her story seemed to have ended before it even began. She had no parents, no lover, no friends—she lived like a solitary star cursed by fate. When she smiled and asked others if they hadn’t yet calmed down from the upheaval, she herself had already aged through the turmoil. Though only sixteen in age, her heart bore the weight of sixty. The empire remained, but she had lost too much—it wasn’t worth it.

She addressed the three officials before her: “Life is too unpredictable. Please take care of yourselves. My great undertaking still requires your support. If more people leave, who will stand beside me?”

The three officials gazed at their sovereign, clasped their hands, and bowed deeply. “The rough road is only temporary. In time, calm will return. Please, Your Majesty, muster your strength.”

She smiled faintly. “This victory belongs to me. Why shouldn’t I rise to the occasion?”

These words were meant for herself. At the pinnacle, loneliness reigns—emperors are meant to be solitary.

She emerged from her private quarters, passed through the Golden Horse Gate, and headed toward Yong’an Palace. As the residence of successive Empress Dowagers, those who had never been there might imagine a scene of twilight tranquility—but it was not so. The palace was solemn, majestic, yet elegant, with rows of glazed windows and black jade steps. The scale of the Holy Mother’s quarters rivaled that of Changqiu Palace.

But the gates of Yong’an Palace would no longer open freely. Northern Palace guards stood watch, hands resting on their swords. Seeing the emperor approach, they stepped forward to pay respects. Fawei raised her hand slightly, signaling them to open the doors. The heavy gates creaked open with a distorted groan. A straight pathway led to the main hall. As she walked along, passing by a pear tree in full bloom, the wind stirred the branches, scattering petals all over her.

She brushed her shoulders—the sun and moon patterns symbolizing the highest imperial authority of Da Yin. Her black shoes stepped onto the corridor as she reached out and pushed the palace door forcefully. The door opened, and light streamed in. Beneath the brocade curtains in the hall knelt Empress Dowager Liang, fully dressed and serene. Hearing the commotion, she merely glanced up without speaking, her gaze fixed on Fawei as she approached.

“Did Mother sleep well last night?” she asked with a smile, barefoot as usual, stepping onto the reed mat and sitting across from her.

The Empress Dowager clearly didn’t buy into this act, sneering, “And what about Your Majesty? I presume you didn’t close your eyes all night!”

Fawei nodded after hearing this. “Indeed, I don’t understand why our mother-son relationship has deteriorated to this point. Have I mistreated you? I’ve always tried not to defy your wishes. You once promised at the late emperor’s bedside to fully support me, but now…” She paused, her voice tinged with sorrow. “I lost my mother at a young age. Though I may not know how to express it, my feelings for you run deep. I wanted to repay you someday. Why, then, did you choose to conspire with outsiders to overthrow me? Have you forgotten the days we relied on each other?”

The Empress Dowager’s lips curled slightly. “If you were a man, I would naturally support you. But why must you be a woman? Women cannot rule. What I did was for the prosperity of Da Yin and the stability of the realm.”

Fawei found it laughable. “If that’s the case, why not enthrone a true descendant of the Yuan clan instead of creating a fake one to confuse matters? Your intention was to seize power and elevate the Liang family, wasn’t it? Did you think that Lingjun would temporarily hold the throne, and when the time came, you’d find a younger child to ensure the court never had an independent emperor, allowing you to rule indefinitely?” She saw a flicker in the Empress Dowager’s eyes and felt even more pity. “Would King Jing agree?”

The Empress Dowager scrutinized her.

“King Jing holds military power—he could become another Chancellor. The Chancellor had no sons, but he does. When his sons ascend the throne, who can stop them? Mother’s and the Liang family’s fates will be tragic. Haven’t you ever considered this?”

In the pursuit of power, risks were inevitable. The Empress Dowager knew the path ahead was fraught with danger, but people often overestimated themselves, believing they could quell any storm. Yet, hearing these doubts voiced by someone else suddenly made her feel uncertain. On reflection, she realized she wasn’t the young emperor, and King Jing wasn’t the Chancellor. Seizing military power from him was impossible.

She fell silent, her lips pressed tightly shut. Fawei sighed softly. “Without this upheaval, I wouldn’t have wronged the Liang family, but Mother didn’t trust me.”

The Empress Dowager snorted. “Don’t speak pretty words, Your Majesty. When I asked for the position of Commander of the Imperial Guards, you repeatedly evaded. Even when you finally agreed, you immediately appointed your two maternal uncles as Left Supervisor and Left Chief to control the commander. Between the Liangs and the Lous, it’s clear whom you favor. How could I believe you’d side with the Liangs? I had no choice but to save myself.”

Fawei frowned, disappointed that the Empress Dowager remained deluded.

“Why must there be a hierarchy? I’m in dire need of capable hands. Both the Lous and the Liangs will excel in the future—it’s just that Mother was too impatient.”

The Empress Dowager closed her eyes, remaining silent for a long while before responding. “It’s come to this. There’s no point in further discussion. I assume Your Majesty didn’t come here to confide in me today.”

Fawei fell silent. The fragrant smoke from the bronze incense burner on the long table wafted toward her, dissipating before it reached her ears.

The hall was deathly silent, as if time itself could be seen flowing past. Finally, she spoke: “There’s something I’ve always wondered about. Princess Dingyang was fine in the capital, and Langlang was betrothed to Azhao. Why did they suddenly leave? I saw the handwritten letter Princess Dingyang sent to Lord Gai seeking help. Its contents troubled me greatly. Did Mother know anything about it?”

The Empress Dowager answered frankly, “I informed Princess Dingyang. No one can accept a woman ruling as emperor, and as a member of the Yuan clan, she certainly couldn’t allow it.”

Fawei felt a deep sense of regret. She had always thought her own negligence had caused Princess Dingyang to notice and hastily return to Shuofang. Later, upon careful reflection, she realized many details didn’t align. Probing the Empress Dowager confirmed her suspicions.

How selfish must one be to disregard the lives of an entire household? In her eyes, only the Liang family mattered—all others were expendable, right?

“If Mother had been more prudent, perhaps the Gai family could have survived.”

The Empress Dowager laughed bitterly. “People born rebellious will revolt regardless of whether I revealed their secrets. I merely expedited their uprising. What crime is that?”

Fawei stared at her, the once affectionate and kind face now unfamiliar and frightening. “Han Yan’s assassination attempt on me—was that also orchestrated by Mother?”

The Empress Dowager hesitated briefly. Thinking of this filled her with regret. If not for the constant presence of the Chancellor’s men at Zhangde Hall, she wouldn’t have resorted to sending a woman into the inner chambers. She underestimated the young emperor’s abilities and overestimated Han Yan’s swordsmanship, resulting in utter failure. Fortunately, the case was dropped. Had it been pursued further, she might not have survived.

But now that the truth had surfaced, there was no need for concealment. “Yes, it was my order. If it had succeeded, everything would have been resolved by now.”

A wave of overwhelming sadness engulfed Fawei. She clenched her hands beneath her wide sleeves. “Does Mother not value our mother-child bond at all? I remember when I was little, you showered me with love, often sending flowers across the corridors.”

The Empress Dowager’s expression remained cold, like an ice-bound statue. Since discovering her true identity, everything changed. It was natural for a man to inherit the throne, but she was a woman. Why should Lady Lou be so fortunate that even her daughter brought glory to the family?

She sneered coldly. “There’s no such thing as familial affection in the imperial family. Has Your Majesty not realized this yet?”

Fawei’s heart grew colder by the second. Rising to her feet, she looked down at the Empress Dowager. “I used to harbor doubts, but thank you, Mother, for opening my eyes. Since things have reached their worst, I doubt Mother harbors any hope of survival.” From her sleeve, she pulled out a stack of white silk and tossed it casually. The fabric unfurled, landing gently on the reed mat. “Take your own life to atone for your sins. I know you’re most concerned about the Liang family. Rest assured—I’ll exterminate them so they can join you. You may depart in peace.”

The once formidable Empress Dowager crumbled completely. She crawled on the mat, her bloodshot eyes pleading. “What crime has the Liang family committed?”

Fawei took half a step back, her tone indifferent. “Do you not understand the principle that one misstep affects all? The Liang family’s greatest sin was producing an ambitious traitor who sought to usurp the throne. Blame yourself—it’s your greed that doomed the entire clan. Don’t blame anyone else.”

With a flick of her robe, she stepped out of Yong’an Palace. Behind the closed doors, wails echoed through the halls. She narrowed her eyes indifferently. The spring sun shone brilliantly, bright enough for her to face directly, but human hearts—those could not be tested or probed too deeply. They were far more dangerous than anything else in the world.

One coup d’état wiped out three families, erased two surnames, and claimed over five hundred lives. Though the bloodshed was immense, she felt no regret. A peaceful empire was built on countless sacrifices. Especially for an emperor like her, caught between establishing and maintaining stability, internal struggles posed greater challenges than any faced by her predecessors. Thankfully, it was over. She could finally breathe. For the next ten or twenty years, there would be no more warfare within the royal family. She had laid a truly stable foundation for future rulers.

She attended Azhao’s funeral. Life under the blade was so fragile—whether glorious or faded in life, in death, all one received was a stick of incense and a plot of earth.

She stood by the coffin for a long time. The lid was already sealed, and she couldn’t bring herself to reopen it. She didn’t believe the person inside was truly Azhao. She silently bid farewell to the child inheriting his title, clad in mourning attire and kneeling beside the coffin. “May your next life not be born into royalty or serve as an emperor’s close minister. May you find a beloved wife and live happily to old age, surrounded by children and grandchildren.” She didn’t know if he heard her.

All of April seemed steeped in sorrow, even the officials in the court appeared subdued. Gradually, life returned to normal after the storm. Yan Xiangru, credited for his role in suppressing the rebellion, continued to lead as Chancellor.

At the start of May, the Dragon Boat Festival approached—a holiday to lift spirits. Emperor Xihe toyed with a jade ornament, listening to the newly appointed Prefect of the Capital report recent cases. She approved of the new prefect’s capabilities.

“Since the establishment of the Three Auxiliary Offices in the capital region, both major and minor cases have decreased by thirty percent. This brings me great comfort. Now that the realm is stable and border conflicts are subsiding, it’s thanks to all of you working together. You are all my loyal ministers and brave generals. Regarding last month’s palace seizure, I know your hearts have been uneasy. Let us put it behind us now. In a few days, it will be the Dragon Boat Festival. You may take three days off to spend with your families. I now realize that being able to gather with loved ones is a tremendous blessing. Don’t neglect your aging parents due to work. For example, I…” She smiled faintly. “I wish to care for my parents, but they are no longer here. This regret will stay with me for life.”

The emperor’s tone was light, yet tinged with sorrow. Though she now held the reins of governance firmly in her hands, she remained visibly burdened. At times, her expression mirrored that of the late emperor—her smiles reached her mouth and nose but never her eyes.

Of course, the decree to grant leave for the Dragon Boat Festival brought joy to all. The entire court bowed deeply in gratitude: “We humbly follow Your Majesty’s teachings.”

The emperor smiled faintly, her gentle gaze flowing like spring water, finally resting on the Chancellor.

He was impeccably dressed, his plain silk undergarment accentuating the embroidered collar, his countenance as brilliant as ever. He had never been one to smile often, and since the last palace coup, his smiles had grown even rarer. Fawei frequently met with him over state affairs, stealing glances when she could, only to quickly avert her eyes. To linger on someone who no longer belonged to you felt like a sin.

The longest journey in the world is the distance between one heart and another. Fawei knew she would never again have the chance to enter his heart. Yet, their paths inevitably crossed, causing pain for them both. He might find solace eventually—he could marry and have children, living the life she once dreamed of. But what about her? She would remain the emperor, cloaked in a man’s guise to preside over the court, unable to marry or bear children. In the end, the empire would belong to someone else, for she could not pass it on.

No one could decipher the relationship between the emperor and the Chancellor—not even herself. There were moments when longing overwhelmed her, and she resorted to cutting her arms to endure the ache of separation. Beneath her elegant sleeves lay countless scars, hidden from view—a method she used to suppress her yearning.

Unless necessary, he avoided looking at her. The tender gazes they once exchanged had long since dissipated into the past. Disheartened, she shifted her gaze, resting one hand on the armrest, when suddenly she heard him speak aloud: “Your servant has a memorial to present to Your Majesty.”

Qin Song descended the steps, handing up the bamboo slips to the emperor. She unfolded them, her heart sinking with each word—his request to leave the capital to inspect the frontier.

“The rebellion of King Jing has been quelled, and internal affairs are now stable. The court and the countryside are at peace, requiring no further concern from me. I have served for many years, and lately, in the stillness of midnight, I often recall the bold days of my youth on the borderlands. Coincidentally, construction is underway in Jincheng Commandery. I humbly request permission to inspect the northern territories. If Your Majesty grants this, I will henceforth guard the frontier against invaders, ensuring lasting peace for the Central Plains.”

A buzzing filled Fawei’s ears; his words came in fragments. At first, she strained to make sense of them, but soon, they became indistinct.

She raised a hand to touch her ear. “What did Father Chancellor say?”

His expression faltered slightly before he repeated his earlier words.

Fawei furrowed her brow, catching snippets about Jincheng Commandery and guarding the frontier. She understood—he was weary of court politics and planned to retreat. She lowered her gaze to the words on the bamboo slips, the memorial clear and concise. By announcing it before the entire court, he was informing everyone of his decision. If his resolve was firm, how could she possibly detain him? Struggling to control her emotions, she swallowed back the tears threatening to spill. When his lips stopped moving, signaling he had finished, she forced a smile. “Has Father Chancellor made up his mind?”

He replied affirmatively: “I return all military authority of the southern and northern armies to Your Majesty.” From his sleeve, he presented the tiger tally, holding it high in offering. Qin Song conveyed it to the emperor.

Fawei gazed silently at the inscriptions carved on the tally. Both the court and military power were now hers, yet she felt no joy. The ambition she once harbored had vanished—perhaps the more one gains, the less precious it becomes.

“Father Chancellor is tireless indeed. I approve your request to inspect beyond the passes. When you grow weary and return, I shall meet you ten li outside the city.” She cupped her ears, finding that one gradually regained hearing while the other roared like thunder.

Finally, the court session ended. Returning to her private quarters, she summoned the imperial physician. After examining her ears for some time, he found nothing amiss, concluding that Her Majesty was simply exhausted and needed rest.

How could she rest? She confided in the Grand Tutor: “The memorials pile up like mountains. Today’s work is done, but tomorrow brings more. Only now do I understand the hardship Chancellor endured—when busy, sleepless nights were inevitable.” Pausing, she asked, “Have the eight colonels assumed their posts in the army?”

The Grand Tutor affirmed: “They have fully taken over. Your Majesty may rest assured.”

She nodded slowly. “From now on, the capital’s garrison forces will be divided among eight factions. No single general will command the entire army. This is good.”

The Grand Tutor responded vaguely, noting her poor complexion. Bowing, he advised: “Your Majesty should heed the physician’s counsel and rest well. Falling ill at such a young age would be disastrous.”

She tilted her neck and stretched, smiling: “You’re right. I should rest for a couple of days… When does the Chancellor depart for the north?”

The Grand Tutor replied: “Tomorrow. He takes two hundred attendants, traveling north along the Qin Straight Road.”

She let out a long sigh. “I should see him off. After all, this parting may mean we never meet again in this lifetime.”

Temporarily setting aside her duties, she returned to her chambers to rest. After taking her medicine, she tossed and turned on her bed, unable to sleep. Memories swirled in her mind—Ruchun, laughable Ruchun, disheveled Ruchun, defiant Ruchun… She covered her face, admonishing herself not to cry, but the bitterness in her heart was unstoppable.

Before dawn the next day, she hurried to Ganquan Palace, waiting there before his arrival. Without fanfare, her newly appointed Grand Secretary accompanied her in a simple carriage, stationed beside the Qin Straight Road.

The winding road through the mountains offered no shelter. The wind whipped her hair into a frenzy. The Grand Secretary, hand on his sword, advised: “Please board the carriage, Your Majesty. You may alight when the Chancellor’s entourage arrives.”

She shook her head, wanting to see him the moment he appeared. After all, each encounter was precious—this journey would span years, and their paths might never cross again.

Gazing into the distance, the gray line of the road stretched endlessly, evoking boundless desolation. She had once believed she controlled her own fate, but destiny proved uncontrollable. Like a spinning top, she was driven ceaselessly, busy yet unsure of her purpose. Secretly, she longed to follow that road to the ends of the earth—an urge that grew increasingly difficult to suppress. Lost in thought, she murmured: “Perhaps the road should have been built longer, making travel easier…”

The Grand Secretary called to her from behind: “Your Majesty, the Chancellor’s convoy approaches.”

She turned. He rode his blood-sweating steed, its tail and mane neatly tied, striding steadily with robust strength.

A fine horse carried an even finer man. He led the procession, followed by a grand retinue and supply wagons. Her heart ached as her gaze lingered on the caravan. Dismounting, he bowed to her. Absentmindedly, she said: “The road is long, Father Chancellor. Please take care.”

He acknowledged: “Thank you for your concern, Your Majesty.”

She refrained from asking whether Chaisang Princess was aboard. Standing face-to-face, neither found words. After a long silence, she finally spoke: “Upon reaching the north, please send reports of all you see and hear to the ministry…” Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to ask him to write to her.

He nodded, retrieving a cloth pouch from his robes and handing it to her. “These are recent troop deployments by the regional lords. Your Majesty may consider reducing their forces to prevent their power from growing.”

Clutching the pouch tightly, she was speechless. He mounted his horse, bowing to her from atop it. “Your servant bids farewell to Your Majesty. Please take care of yourself. The empire’s prosperity and eternal legacy rest upon Your Majesty.”

She watched him spur his horse, galloping into the distance. The straight road, carved through mountains and valleys, soon obscured his retinue from view. Turning, she ran up the slope, heedless of the Grand Secretary chasing after her. Reaching the summit, she gasped for breath, gazing into the distance. He had already merged into a thin black line, indistinguishable.

He grew smaller and smaller until he disappeared entirely. Clutching the pouch, she felt tears welling but couldn’t shed them. Only after a long while did she remember to examine the contents. Something heavy slipped out, landing softly on the grass.

Bending down, she picked it up, cradling it in her palm—a jade pendant engraved with coiled dragons and fluttering swallows. It was the very pendant he had once given her.