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The clouds thinned, and the moon slowly rose.
A wisp of faint mist drifted in a corner of the neglected palace. A row of phoenix trees lightened the night, and a few unidentified birds flew by, lost and uncertain.
“Thump, thump, thump...”
The clear sound of a wooden fish echoed in the desolate courtyard.
“Your Ladyship,” the aged wet nurse stood at the doorway, her hunched figure seemingly about to be crushed by the heavy darkness of the night.
“Thump, thump, thump...” The sound did not cease.
“Empress Dowager,” the old wet nurse’s voice turned hoarse again.
The wooden mallet paused slightly, then descended.
“Come in,” a cold female voice responded.
“Yes.”
Inside the hall, a single lamp flickered dimly like a bean. Though there were no thick cobwebs, a wavering line of fireflies in the corner still hinted at desolation.
“How is it?” The woman, sitting with her back to them, wore a high bun, her back straight and full of pride.
“Consort Cheng has passed away,” the old woman said, pouring her a cup of tea.
“Hmph,” a light chuckle escaped her lips, her voice full of sarcasm, “Those who love him are all fools.”
Just as the old woman was about to speak, she heard her add, “Those he loves are certainly not long-lived.”
The sound of the wooden fish became slightly erratic, sometimes heavy, sometimes light, full of resentment.
“Your Ladyship,” the old woman sighed softly, kneeling by the prayer mat, “The King has fainted.”
“Thump!”
A startled sound shattered the silence of the room. The fireflies scattered in a panic, like disturbed ashes.
“Is it because...” the woman’s voice trembled slightly, losing its arrogance, “Consort Cheng?”
The old woman lowered her head, silently.
“Why?” Her voice suddenly rose sharply. The woman waved her sleeve, tossing aside the wooden mallet. “Why?” She turned her head, looking at the bronze mirror on the cabinet. Her gaze swept over it; the person in the mirror widened her eyes, revealing a grotesque, sneering smile, “Just because of that face?”
The lamplight trembled faintly, blurring the line between light and shadow.
“Just because of that face...” She straightened up and picked up the bronze mirror. “He wouldn’t spare me a single glance.” Looking at her well-preserved beauty, she gave a bitter smile. “Just because of that face, he ultimately abandoned me and Cheran.” Her scarlet fingernail scratched the mirror surface, emitting a harsh, grating sound. “Ling Zhun, is only her son your true son? Hmm?”
Her voice was soft to the point of being eerie, gathering threads of chill in the stuffy summer night.
“Ling Zhun, you are so cruel, so cruel.” She opened a hidden drawer in the low cabinet, gently caressing a small redwood box inlaid with epiphyllum patterns.
“Your Ladyship!” The old wet nurse cried out in alarm at the sight.
“Old Dong,” she slowly removed a hairpin. “Tell me, among all the princes, which one resembles the King the most?”
Wet Nurse Dong remained silent.
“If you dare not speak, I will speak for you.” The hairpin, serving as a key, unlocked a seven-apertured exquisitely carved lock. She stared intensely, a cold smile curling her lips, “Naturally, it’s Little Nine.”
“...”
“Father and son seem heartless but are truly sentimental; both are worthless, longing for one woman.” The wooden box slowly opened, and she extended a graceful finger to take out a pure white porcelain bottle.
Since he resembles him, he should resemble him completely. This way, my ‘painstaking efforts’ as a mother will not be in vain.
Wet Nurse Dong furrowed her brows, secretly glancing in the dim candlelight. This expression, she had seen it more than ten years ago, and even now, her heart still felt a chill.
Her embroidered shoes moved lightly, the ice-silk plain dress rustling softly. Qiu Jingxian pushed open the wooden window and looked towards the south.
Even though the imperial army was defeated and I was confined to this gloomy neglected palace, within these palace walls, you are not my match, Little Nine.
“Old Dong.”
“This servant is here.”
“Life is like dew, the moon like epiphyllum, jade-like splendor for only one night.” An unspeakable delight flowed in her eyes. She slowly spread her palm. “Old Dong, do you understand?”
A gentle south wind blew. The flickering fireflies landed on the white porcelain bottle, reflecting an eerie, otherworldly light.
“This servant understands.”
The moon hung in the middle of the sky, and palace lanterns were lit for the first time, their brilliant light reflecting the frantic figures of the palace servants.
“Where’s the imperial physician?” The eunuch held his duster, craning his neck to look.
“Coming! Coming!”
The old man with a white beard was pulled stumbling into the bedchamber. Before he could even settle, he heard a cry of alarm from the side room.
“Sister?! Imperial Physician! Imperial Physician!”
The old imperial physician went towards the sound, but before he could even lift the beaded curtain, he stumbled and was dragged to the other side.
“Here, here, the King is here!” A palace servant led him like an ox.
“But...” The imperial physician pointed to the side room.
“Oh, that’s General Han’s sister; she just fainted from crying, it’s nothing serious.”
Nothing serious? The imperial physician frowned, looking at the trail of blood on the floor. The problem was likely much bigger.
A strong scent of blood hung in the air. Qin Dannong pressed on the ruptured wound on Yuexia’s left shoulder; warm blood gushed out.
“Sister?” Dannong murmured softly in Yuexia’s ear. “Sister... what exactly did you go through... Sister...” Her heart ached piercingly. Dannong, with tears in her eyes, took a fresh piece of silk and placed it over the wound again. In no time, the white silk was soaked crimson.
“Why...” Yuexia opened her eyes, gazing blankly. “Why...”
“Sister, don’t speak. His Highness will be here soon.”
“Why...” she continued to murmur, her eyes holding moonlight-like watery depths.
“Sister?” Dannong leaned down, listening closely.
“Ah Lu... Mo Xiang... why exactly?” The pain in her shoulder she could endure, but how could she endure the pain in her heart?
Her long lashes seemed to flutter, and the moonlight in her eyes spilled forth, covering her cheeks.
What had she cultivated her martial arts for? What had she disguised herself as a man for? What she had relentlessly pursued her entire life, why did they so easily give up?
Ah Lu did, and Mo Xiang did too.
“Why?” She clenched her fists, and fresh blood gushed from her left shoulder.
“Sister, calm down.”
“Why...” Her voice was weak and hoarse. Enduring the pain, she endured, her pale face covered in sweat.
Why was she the only one struggling in this vortex? No, not just alone; she was no longer alone.
Her bloodless lips slightly parted: “Xiuyuan...”
“Who?” Qin Dannong leaned close to her lips.
“Why?” She slowly fluttered her long lashes, once, twice, ultimately succumbing to the overwhelming fatigue. Her eyelids, unwillingly, heavily closed.
Why, Xiuyuan, why were they unwilling to persist a little longer?
“Qingqing.”
His clear, cold voice sounded in the darkness.
“Sometimes we cannot control others. What you are persistent about, others might be about to give up.”
Right, that’s what he said that night, but she didn’t understand, still didn’t understand.
Perhaps she would never understand...
________________________________________
Palace lanterns swayed in the summer night. The south wind rattled the copper bells on the eaves.
Long, dark shadows trailed across the ground, and hurried footsteps filled the air.
“Draperies, fruits, sacrificial wine, ritual vessels!” A head palace maid in white clothes shouted with hands on her hips, “Hurry and prepare them all, not one can be missing.” She sighed, rubbing her forehead, then grabbed a passing maid. “Qiao’er, where have you been? I’m almost overwhelmed with work.”
“Ah.” The maid’s hand trembled, spilling a little of the medicinal soup from the jade bowl.
The palace maid in mourning clothes glanced at it, her willow eyebrows slightly furrowed.
“This is for Miss Han,” Qiao’er lowered her head, her eyes trembling slightly.
“Take it inside first, then come back to help. Sigh, it seems we won’t be able to sleep tonight.”
“Yes,” came a soft, slightly trembling reply. Qiao’er lowered her eyes, gazing at the contents of the bowl, her pounding heart unable to calm down for a long time.
Jade-like light flowed along the rim of the bowl, and dark ripples gently echoed within.
She hadn’t expected Her Ladyship to ultimately make a move against that young lady. How could this be, how could this be?
She tilted her head in thought, then lifted the beaded curtain: “Madam.”
“Give it to me quickly,” Qin Dannong wiped away tears from the corner of her eyes, reaching out her hand.
That jade bowl looked light, but it was actually heavy, for she knew that the medicinal soup within was bitter to the point of despair. But she was merely a pawn, with no right to question her master’s true intentions, nor to decide the life or death of others. The clamor in her ears was hard to suppress. Qiao’er stood quietly to the side, watching Qin Dannong feed that bowl of despair, little by little, into the person’s lips.
Suddenly, it was unusually quiet outside the curtain, so quiet that it seemed as if time had stopped. For a moment, only the Chief Eunuch’s startled shout was heard.
“Your Highness!”
His... Highness...
How could His Highness be in the inner palace?
“The King has not summoned him; please, Your Highness, act with caution!”
Footsteps, one after another, seemed to be in close pursuit.
With a whoosh, the beaded curtain swept aside. The person at the entrance, backlit, his ink-dark hair and red robes imbued with a faint, distant glow.
“Your Highness!” Chief Eunuch Dexian prostrated himself on the ground. “According to strict palace rules, unauthorized entry into the inner palace is considered treason. Please, Your Royal Highness the Ninth Prince, think again.”
Everyone present was dumbfounded. Treason, ah. His Highness had been so careful at every step; how could he leave himself open to such talk?
“Hmph.” His face shadowed, his thin lips curved slightly. “So what.” Ling Yiran answered wildly, his actions flamboyant, slamming the carved wooden door shut with a casual swing.
So what? What more could he do?
Dexian remained stunned on the ground, the beaded curtain clinking like jade before his eyes, his ears filled with alarming sounds.
One step, two steps, Ling Yiran moved with difficulty, no longer his usual unrestrained self.
Clumps of blood-soaked cloth were scattered on the ground. The lake-colored bedsheet was stained crimson. The person lay on their back, their cheeks a deathly, pale white, completely devoid of color.
“...” He opened his mouth, but no sound came from his throat.
He was watching her too intently. When her fingers twitched slightly, Ling Yiran immediately pulled her into his arms.
“Qingqing.” Her entire body was cold, completely untouched by the summer’s heat.
“Where are the imperial physicians?” Ling Yiran pressed on the wound on her left shoulder, his sharp eyes sweeping around with an intimidating aura that needed no anger to be felt.
“The imperial physicians are consulting for the King,” Dannong said helplessly, putting down the jade bowl, which was now empty.
“...” The person in his arms bit her lip, suppressing a cat-like moan of pain.
“Cry out if it hurts,” Ling Yiran murmured hoarsely, gently stroking her eyelids.
Her beautiful brows slightly furrowed, as if lost in thought in her dream.
“Qingqing, don’t hold it in,” he coaxed softly. “It’s me, Yunzhi.”
Her slightly parted lips instantly pressed together, the painful moans tightly locked away.
“Liu Yao,” Ling Yiran said displeased.
“Your Highness,” a soft reply came from outside the door.
Covering her naked left shoulder, Ling Yiran scooped her up into his arms: “Summon all imperial physicians of third rank and above to Bai’e Palace to examine her.”
Holding his duster, Liu Yao stared dumbfounded at his master, who emerged from behind the curtain: “But...”
Ling Yiran’s icy, gloomy gaze swept over him, radiating a terrifying aura.
“Yes... yes!” Liu Yao bowed deeply.
The vast palace was silent. Everyone’s eyes were fixed only on that fiery red robe.
The flamboyant color ignited the stuffy summer night, moving further and further away along the long palace path...
________________________________________
Stars reflected on the water, fishing lights connected heart to heart. On the river, a small boat drifted with the current.
Two figures stood on the gunwale, looking like immortals, not mortals.
“Why go to Yundu?” Feng Huaijin, his hair and beard white and flowing in the wind, asked his old friend beside him.
The great monk smiled slightly, not replying.
The moon left Bi constellation, Yao Guang was due south. The bright star that had shone for sixteen years gradually dimmed. Would everything truly unfold according to fate?
He looked up at the vast sky, a hint of a wry smile.
Stepping on frost and snow, he laughed at his past life. With vast seas and boundless skies, he was free to roam. Don’t forget, that person is the Crescent Moon Lord.
“Liaowu,” Feng Huaijin’s white eyebrows slightly furrowed, as if sighing, “Have you guessed something?”
Avoiding the question, the great monk raised his hand and pointed to the eastern sky, “Look.”
Following the billowing monk’s robe, Feng Huaijin raised his head to the sky.
“On a midsummer night, the Heart Constellation emerges in the east. In the seventh month, fire flows, and the principal star, Shang, shines brightly red.” To the east of the moon, a crimson star shimmered. “The seven mansions of the west, particularly Can, hold critical positions and govern winter. Can is the Azure Dragon, Shang is the Red Chi. They were originally brothers. The two stars were born incompatible and later developed animosity due to the Crescent Moon. Hence, when one appears, the other sets, and vice versa; they never shine together on the same day.”
________________________________________
“Life is such that we rarely meet, like the stars Shen and Shang.” Feng Huaijin murmured softly, his boat having unknowingly traveled several li.
“Never seeing each other, ultimately due to the moon; meeting again in this life is also for you.” Liaowu turned his head and glanced towards the western sky.
The cold stars were like water, overflowing with clear light.
“Shen constellation...” Feng Huaijin muttered to himself, “How could...”
In midsummer, Shen and Shang appearing on the same day—how could the Divine Kun be at peace?
Gazing at the waning moon, even the two constellations were startled.
The wind stirred gentle ripples, and Liaowu looked at the river with a sigh: “Since the Sagely Emperor, the imperial aura has gradually diminished. And now, two dragons circle on earth, the Azure Dragon and the Red Chi. Who will win, who will lose? Who will triumph in this life?”
Heaven and man do not know; only Qingqing knows.
________________________________________
Waking up again was the next morning. Light curtains drifted before her eyes, and her nostrils were filled with the scent of flowers. She stared blankly at the bed canopy, feeling a burning sensation on her shoulder.
Was it a nightmare?
She was still in doubt, but the overwhelming pain pulled her back to reality.
It was real after all...
The June sun was too dazzling. She covered her face, lying motionless on the bed.
In her previous life, parental affection was distant, leaving her alone and always melancholic. By chance, she was reborn here and received the long-awaited family affection, for which she was deeply grateful and cherished. But why was happiness always so fleeting? She had hated and resented, then pulled herself together. She had lived so hard, simply wanting to be with the one she loved, just to be together.
Was this also a luxury?
She rubbed her eyes; a sense of powerlessness, like tiny insects, drilled into her limbs and bones, instantly sweeping through her entire body like a raging tide.
On the flower branches outside the window, two tender yellow sparrows perched, chirping their sweet nothings to each other. She lay there, unmoved, not even noticing the faint sounds beyond the screen.
“Have you thought it through?” Liu Yao asked softly, looking at the ordinary-looking young man before him.
“Mm,” Zhang Mi nodded slightly, the blood mole on his earlobe a vibrant, almost dripping red.
“You must understand that besides the King, there are no true men in the palace.” Why was this child so stubborn?
Ignoring Liu Yao’s strange scrutiny, Zhang Mi turned and looked beyond the landscape painted screen. The green-petaled gauze curtains rippled like waves; the person on the bed covered their face with a hand, exuding a sense of loneliness and melancholy.
“Your Excellency?” He took a step forward and called softly, his voice faintly unsteady.
The person behind the curtain stirred, their bewitching eyes showing joy. He walked around the screen and stood bowing by the bed: “Your Excellency, you’re awake.”
“Mi’er?” She slowly sat up, dragging her left arm. “Where is this?”
“Your Excellency, this is Bai’e Palace.” He suppressed his excessive joy, his voice soft with a hint of abnormality, his thin disguise trembling slightly.
That’s right, the fragrance of gardenias floated in the air. This was the residence of Yunzhi’s birth mother before her death, a forbidden area of the Green Palace.
Pushing aside the gauze curtain, she stepped off the ancient wooden bed: “Mi...”
A sudden dizziness overcame her. She clutched Zhang Mi’s arm, her waist-length hair falling to one side.
“Your Excellency?”
“I’m fine.” She lightly touched her forehead and asked, “Mi’er, how did you get into the palace?”
Zhang Mi avoided answering, directly helping her to the edge of the bed and taking a porcelain bottle for rinsing to serve her in washing up.
“Mi’er,” Yuexia swept a cold glance at the palace attendants outside the screen and asked in a low voice, “Where’s my sister-in-law?”
“The General’s wife is mourning for Her Ladyship,” Zhang Mi noticed her wariness and moved two steps to block the sight of others.
“Only she alone?” Summer leaves held no permanence, the courtyard full of jade hairpins. Outside the curtain, gardenia branches hung low. Yuexia sat by the window, idly running her fingers through her long hair.
“Consort Cheng had no children. The King ordered the Fourteenth Prince to be the dutiful son, and General Fubo to be the chief mourner.” Picking up the rhinoceros horn comb from the desk, Zhang Mi diligently combed her silky black hair. “Now, the General is ordered to guard the Northwest and cannot return to court, so the General’s eldest son is performing the rites on his behalf, as per custom.”
Yan’er is also in the palace? Her uneasiness gradually took shape. She narrowed her beautiful eyes, her gaze sharp as she looked into the mirror: “The northern rebellion has been quelled, why can’t my brother return to court?”
The rhinoceros horn comb paused, and he instinctively lowered his gaze.
“Mi’er?”
How could this news be allowed to reach His Excellency? If she knew, she...
Pressing his lips together, Zhang Mi silently braided her hair.
“Guarding the Northwest, is it to defend against Mianzhou?”
He suddenly looked up, meeting her understanding eyes.
So that’s how it is, so that’s how it is!
Before, she had been too overwhelmed by the bad news to notice the strangeness. Mianzhou’s peril, Mo Xiang’s critical illness, the Northwest’s defense—everything seemed to be pulled by invisible strings, leading her step by step into a pre-set trap.
Life seemed like a circle; no matter how hard she tried, how unyielding she was, she always returned to the starting point. Just like ten years ago, all that was left for her was powerlessness and pain, a reality she couldn’t understand but had to accept.
She lived so earnestly, yet she couldn’t escape this fate after all?
Her face suddenly trembled, as if something was about to burst from her forehead. Yuexia bit her teeth, enduring; repeated endurance had almost numbed her.
A heavy silence pressed down. Zhang Mi slowed his movements, carefully glancing into the mirror. The woman in the mirror’s face gradually paled, her beautiful eyes holding a moon-like coldness. Suddenly, she unbound her braid, letting her black hair fall all over her.
“Your Excellency?”
“Mi’er, please style my hair into a married woman’s bun.”
Thousands of mountains blocked the path, layers of water overlapped, how many steps without rest.
A chilling premonition seized her. Slowly, she closed her eyes, instinctively searching for the path ahead.
________________________________________
The person before them was skeletal, the King of Qing appearing aged overnight. By the bed, Qiu Jingxian recited Buddhist scriptures with a devout expression, rhythmically tapping a wooden fish.
A husband plagued by illness, a virtuous wife praying and chanting scriptures—they truly seemed like a loving couple.
Yuexia stood by the door, unable to step into this eerie scene.
“Deposed Empress Qiu,” the person in bed finally spoke.
“Your humble concubine is here.”
“It’s time to go.”
The King’s voice was light and indifferent, devoid of any emotion. The sound of the wooden fish gradually ceased. Looking at the three feet of white silk before her, Qiu Jingxian’s tone was unusually calm: “Please, Your Majesty, grant your humble concubine the time for one more stick of incense.”
“Does the deposed empress fear death too?” Ling Zhun mocked.
“No,” Qiu Jingxian raised her head, returning a faint sneer, “Your humble concubine wishes to finish chanting the Kṣitigarbha Sūtra for Your Majesty.”
The Imperial Hall was exceptionally quiet. In their eyes was naked hatred. It was either you die or I live, with no surrender, no concession—this was the relationship between a couple married for over two decades.
“Does the King not wish to know about Imperial Concubine Yin?” Qiu Jingxian smiled lightly.
His eyes were like sharp blades, his merciless gaze seemingly intent on piercing through her. After a long silence, the King of Qing’s bloodless lips slowly parted: “Granted.”
A single word determined success or failure. Qiu Jingxian’s face showed triumph as she leisurely picked up the small mallet.
“Thump, thump, thump.” The wooden fish sounded briskly, unsettling the listener’s heart.
After a while, Ling Zhun called out deeply: “Shaochu.”
“Thump!” The sound stopped abruptly. Yuexia couldn’t help but stare.
Glancing under the bed, Ling Zhun seemed to have won a round, smiling rather smugly: “What? Does the deposed empress not know that Han Yuexia is Feng Shaochu?”
Her fingers dug into her palms. Qiu Jingxian stared intensely at Han Yuexia, a flood of resentment threatening to erupt instantly.
“Now you should understand why General Fubo refused to conspire with Little Seven, and why he didn’t leave the rebel army any chance of survival,” Ling Zhun laughed heartily, his chest shaking violently. “Cough... cough...” Even as he coughed up blood, he didn’t stop laughing. “Han Yuesha’s original name was Han Yuexiao. She and this young lady here are descendants of the former General of Youzhen State, General Han Baiqing!”
The small mallet slipped from her fingers. Qiu Jingxian sat there with empty eyes, her face already devoid of color.
“That’s right, from the beginning, they were Little Nine’s people. My General Fubo, the young Left Prime Minister I personally promoted, even my closest pillow companion...” His old eyes softened, and the King’s voice faintly deepened, “They were all on Little Nine’s side, ah...”
Fragments of words severed the bamboo slips, and unspoken feelings scattered across the floor. Leaning on the bed, Ling Zhun gazed deeply at the fragrant jasmine, his eyes no longer fixed solely on the gardenia.
“King.”
A cold voice broke his reverie. Ling Zhun gathered his thoughts, looking sternly at the distant figure.
Han Yuexia stood at the boundary of light and shadow, enveloped in a semi-lit, semi-dark halo, making her expression indistinct.
“Where are my sister-in-law and nephew?” She hadn’t bowed since entering the hall. Her right hand rested on her waist, absently rubbing her silver belt.
Ling Zhun answered very quickly: “Noble Consort Cheng has passed away, so they are naturally at the Ink Fragrance Palace attending her funeral.”
“They’re not in the Ink Fragrance Palace,” she took a slight step forward, and her belt glinted with the coldness of metal and stone.
“Oh?” Ling Zhun looked to one side. “Dexian, where are Madam and the heir?”
“Replying to Your Majesty, Madam and the heir are waiting outside the hall to pay respects to the new King and new Empress.”
The Chief Eunuch pushed open the western window; two figures, one large and one small, vaguely appeared in the distant, dense shade.
She gripped the soft sword at her waist, her fingers icy cold.
She hadn’t carried a sword since her severe injury, not because she feared killing, but because next to that person, she had no use for her skills. But now, even if she could save her sister-in-law and Yan’er, there was still Zhang Mi in the palace, and a pair of newborn niece and nephew outside.
Seeing her drop her hand in resignation, Ling Zhun slowly curled his lips: “I told you long ago, what is yours will ultimately be yours; this is fate, ah.”
Fate? Whose fate?
She gritted her teeth, tighter and tighter, so tight that blood seeped from her gums, her mouth filled with a sweet, metallic taste.
“Whether you are Han Yuexia or Feng Shaochu, you are destined to be the mistress of this vast azure sky.” Ling Zhun suddenly raised his voice, his trembling words rising and falling, echoing long in the Imperial Hall.
“I am already married,” her tone was light, yet incredibly firm.
“The legitimate daughter of the Han family can only marry one person: my successor, the First Emperor of the dynasty.”
“No.”
“Shaochu, you are a smart person; you should understand there is only one path left for you.”
“No.”
“What were you two siblings striving for?”
The words echoed in her ears. She looked up. Ling Zhun was sunken in the bed, frail like decaying wood, only his dragon eyes still held life, and were astonishingly bright.
“General Han Baiqing died in battle at Gupu Cliff. Both husband and wife left no bodies behind. You two siblings merely want to retrieve your parents’ remains, and personally kill your enemies to honor the General’s name.”
A single sentence sliced her heart into a thousand petals, each slowly drifting into the bitter spring formed by her tears.
“If I haven’t guessed wrong, you two want to set up an ancestral shrine at Gupu Cliff, so your parents, who have become lonely ghosts, will have a roof to shelter from the rain and incense to attain rebirth.”
The summer sun was like wine, pouring a vast pain into her heart.
If she hadn’t descended into the underworld, she might still comfort herself by dismissing talk of gods and ghosts as nonsense. But she had seen it, experienced it. How could she let her parents remain wild ghosts, trapped forever at the bottom of Gupu Cliff?
“Looking at the world, how many can help you two siblings achieve this wish? The Marquis of Mianzhou?” Ling Zhun chuckled. “Now Jingyi’s forces are jointly attacking Mianzhou. The Marquis of Mianzhou can barely take care of himself, let alone confront the King of Yong.”
All talk of brotherly alliances is nonsense!
She stepped forward two paces, pressing him aggressively: “My brother...”
“Neighboring countries are in dispute, the northern border is unstable, and it’s also the time for a new ruler to ascend and appoint a new empress. As a Grand General, Han Yuesha should remain guarding the frontier, sharing the burdens of the monarch.”
If Mianzhou suffered a great defeat, her brother could not be saved. If it achieved a great victory, how could Yunzhi allow Xiuyuan to monopolize the Northwest? In the end, whether it hurt Xiuyuan or her brother, it would ultimately be her who suffered.
“Shaochu, do you know that your fate is to be the mistress of the realm?”
She ignored him, still fumbling for a way out of her desperate situation.
“This mistress is not only desired by the realm, but also by my Ling clan, and even more so by your Han family, ah.”
Her eyebrows twitched slightly, and she slowly raised her head.
“Have you ever considered Yuesha’s situation once you two siblings regain your true names?”
She looked bewildered.
“Even after ten years, the former You remnants still remember General Han Baiqing, and many rebels use your father’s name.”
The righteous army of Qingzhou flashed in her mind, and she couldn’t help but frown.
“Foolish people are often reckless. If they knew that General Han’s lineage had not ended, and that he was the renowned divine archer Yuesha, what would happen then?”
Naturally, there would be endless trouble. Even if her brother was upright, three men can make a tiger, and many mouths can melt metal. In the end, even if his shadow isn’t crooked, it will appear so. If her brother had ambitions for the realm, that would be one thing, but he was inherently straightforward, a good general, not a ruler.
“Once his true identity is revealed, Yuesha’s position at court will be quite delicate, success or failure hanging by a thread, life and death in an instant. If there were a Han empress in the inner palace, and if this empress happened to be the woman the monarch favored, then everything would be different,” Ling Zhun pointed out incisively. “Therefore, compared to the realm, the Han clan needs this mistress more, don’t they?”
Her lips pressed tightly, she avoided looking at the shadow on the ground.
Yes...
She took a deep breath, but found she couldn’t utter the rest of the sentence. After all, it concerned her brother; how could she heartlessly say those few words: So what?
So what? So what...
It would only make her heart ache unbearably, like purgatory.
Under the window adorned with intertwined flowers, shadows immersed her beautiful face. She looked at the mother and son embracing under the dense shade, and softly opened her lips: “Is Your Majesty not afraid?”
“Hm?”
________________________________________
“Aren’t you afraid that the world will eventually fall to the Han surname?” She turned her face, her eyes as clear and cold as the moon.
“If I didn’t know that Han Yuexia is Feng Shaochu, I wouldn’t be afraid. But I know that Yiran will never let go.” The summer sun flowed faintly, directly into his eyes. “But just like me, Yiran also committed a king’s greatest taboo: he has someone he cares about too much.” As if unable to contain so much warmth, Ling Zhun slowly closed his eyes. “For those in power, love equals error. Not just for oneself, but also for the one they care about.”
Suddenly, Qiu Jingxian began tapping the wooden fish, one beat after another, wondering whose heart she aimed to reach.
“My concern killed Yiran’s birth mother, but you are different from her. Shaochu, you are too clever. Currently, Yiran can still control you. But in a few years, the situation will be hard to say.”
“If Your Majesty wishes to rest well in the afterlife, please let me go,” she said, caressing her heart, each word escaping her lips. “Otherwise, not to mention this Green Court, even the vast Divine Kun will not find peace.”
“Go? Go where? In fact, just based on your relationship with the Marquis of Mianzhou, I cannot tolerate you. If not for Yiran’s deep affection for you, Feng Shaochu and Han Yuexia would have long since been but a wisp of fragrant soul.” His face was mellow, his tone calm. “Keeping you is my compensation to Yiran.”
He understood perfectly the urgency of capturing a woman’s heart; the method was simply to make her conceive his child. But on this point, he could not allow Little Nine to have his wish. Because he was first a king, and only then a father. No matter how much he doted on his son, he could not gamble with the empire. If Han Yuexia were to give birth to a Crown Prince, and should anything happen to Little Nine, the Ling family’s empire would fall into the hands of an outsider.
The future Han family might be the Qiu clan of the past, he slightly lifted his eyelids, looking at the seemingly submissive Qiu Jingxian. If he hadn’t had the foresight to administer secret medicine that cut off her ability to bear children back then, how would she have adopted the concubine’s son? These years, she and Little Seven seemed to have a loving mother-son relationship, but after all, they were not blood-related, and there must have been many rifts between them. Otherwise, Little Seven wouldn’t have been defeated so easily, so utterly vulnerable.
Having been king for twenty-four years, he was accustomed to control. He would not let go of any contingency. What Little Nine couldn’t bear to do, he, as his father, would do on his behalf.
Thinking of this, he called out, “Dexian.”
Yuexia glanced at the porcelain bowl in the Chief Eunuch’s hand, her eyes filled with suspicion.
“Drink this, and you can take your wife and heir back.”
His sharp old eyes remained fixed. After a long stare, she turned her gaze to the window. The wind blew softly, rippling the lush, dense foliage. Beneath the undulating green waves, the woman’s figure appeared somewhat weary, and the child’s expression was somewhat inexplicable. Ten years ago, she too was like this, unknowingly walking into so-called fate.
Slowly, she looked at the porcelain bowl. The translucent rim of the bowl framed the wine-colored medicinal liquid, reflecting shimmering light under the bright sun.
“How to do what’s best for the Han family, Shaochu, you should understand.”
Yes, she understood, damn it, she understood.
But what about her, what about Xiuyuan? Did fate never leave any room for her and him?
Her fair hand lifted and then fell, her slender fingers extended and then curled.
Unconvinced, she was unconvinced!
“Han Yuexia,” the King urged again.
That’s right, Han, Yue, Xia!
Like a sudden enlightenment, it clicked for her.
Since the Han family needed an empress, she would leave the name Yuexia to the Han family. And from now on, she would be just one man’s Qingqing, dedicating the rest of her life to being his unnamed wife.
With this thought, Yuexia took the bowl of medicine and drank it in one gulp. Wiping the liquid from the corners of her mouth, she lowered her gaze to Ling Zhun. The person on the bed nodded slightly, and Dexian gestured towards the window. Two palace attendants appeared from behind the dense shade, respectfully bowing to Qin Dannong and whispering something. Dannong frowned slightly, turning her head to look over.
Hiding the sorrow in her brows, she smiled sweetly, gently waving to her sister-in-law.
“I will send people to escort them back.”
“No.” Her lips still curved upwards, she looked warmly at her little nephew under the tree. “I’ll go back with them.” Turning around, her eyes were filled with ice, clearly showing her distrust towards him.
“Dexian, escort Miss Han out of the palace.”
Looking at the woman who was slowly walking away, Ling Zhun couldn’t help but chuckle softly.
He had done everything he could. The rest was up to you, Little Nine.
With a serene expression, he contentedly lowered his eyelids, slowly, slowly...
Suddenly, a piercing laugh rang in his ears. He violently opened his eyes, only to see Qiu Jingxian’s face contorted in madness, venting her excessive excitement.
“Ling Zhun, oh Ling Zhun!” She slapped the edge of the bed, pointing at the displeased monarch, and shrieked, “You are truly pathetic!”
“Shut up,” Ling Zhun gritted his teeth and hissed.
“Hahahahaha!” She swayed as she stood up, wiping away tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes. She looked down at him condescendingly, “If Ling Yiran knew that his most beloved woman was going to die by your hand, what would he do? And what would he do to you? Hmm?”
The soft question echoed in the hall. Her foot, which had stepped forward, retracted. Yuexia paused by the door, her cyan-colored gauze dress gently swaying in the wind.
“What nonsense are you talking about!” Suppressing his rage, Ling Zhun coughed incessantly.
“Nonsense?” Qiu Jingxian turned her gaze to Yuexia. “She just drank Wuzi Soup, didn’t she?”
Wuzi Soup...
With wide eyes of disbelief, Han Yuexia turned and looked back.
How could it be this?
“Why the bitter face?” Qiu Jingxian shook her head slightly at her. “Don’t worry, Wuzi Soup no longer has its original medicinal effect on you.”
Ling Zhun’s face suddenly changed.
“However.”
A shift in her words made Yuexia’s slightly relaxed nerves tense up again.
“Wuzi Soup is a different kind of medicinal primer for you, though,” Qiu Jingxian smiled warmly.
Medicinal primer?
Yuexia was wondering, when an unexpected throbbing pain struck her forehead, like a seed trying to break through the soil. She frowned tightly, feeling as if her forehead was about to explode.
Qiu Jingxian watched her with a smile as her expression changed, then curtsied gracefully to Ling Zhun: “Just now, your humble concubine promised Your Majesty to report in detail about Imperial Concubine Yin’s matter.”
His gaze abruptly pulled back, Ling Zhun’s sharp eyes seemingly wanting to flay her alive: “Speak.”
“Yes.” Qiu Jingxian curtsied slightly, displaying her graceful demeanor. “Does Your Majesty remember the night Imperial Concubine Yin had a difficult labor?”
His heart rate suddenly quickened, chaotic emotions re-gathering. Even in memory, it still startled him.
That night, he lost a daughter, a daughter conceived by him and Nuan’er.
“The poison that killed Imperial Concubine Yin’s child in her womb was indeed mixed in the lotus seed soup sent by Consort De.”
Upon confirmation, Consort De was ordered to commit suicide by him. He even transferred his hatred for Consort De to the First Prince; it was his indifference and indulgence that allowed the Empress and Consort Hua to act recklessly, scaring his timid eldest son to death.
Now that he thought about it, he shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have vented his anger on the child.
“But the one who administered the poison was not Consort De.”
It was...
His grizzled beard trembled slightly. Ling Zhun glared at Qiu Jingxian, whose smile lines deepened, his face turning ashen.
“That’s right, it was none other than your humble concubine.”
“Cough! Cough... cough...” He coughed violently, coughing until blood rushed to his head.
“The poison your humble concubine administered is called ‘Ephemeral Flower’.”
Ephemeral Flower? Yuexia nodded, as if she had heard of it before.
“This humble concubine originally thought that the child in Imperial Concubine Yin’s womb was already unhealthy, and this poison, once ingested, would surely cause a miscarriage. At that time, with two lives lost, how heartbroken Your Majesty would be.”
“Bitch!” Ling Zhun glared at her, his eyes bloodshot, his face like a demon.
“It’s just a pity that this humble concubine didn’t get her wish,” Qiu Jingxian sighed, then raised an eyebrow. “But fortunately, it can still be remedied. Ephemeral Flower is rumored to be a secret medicine of the ancient divine beast, the Phoenix clan. Those who first ingest this poison show no immediate symptoms, only occasional throbbing pain in the forehead.”
The sharp pain in her forehead intensified. Yuexia clutched the palace door, her brows unknowingly furrowed.
“To activate the drug’s power and trigger this inexplicable, rare poison, another medicinal primer is needed.”
Medicinal primer? Yuexia pressed her hand to her forehead, thinking rapidly. Could it be! Her eyes widened in shock.
“That’s right.” Qiu Jingxian looked at her with extraordinary tenderness. “It’s the Wuzi Soup you just drank.”
With a crisp sound, the porcelain bowl fell to the floor. Dexian’s hands hung limp; he watched in disbelief, watching his master, who looked as if life had been drained from him.
How cruel fate was. Could the King bear such a truth?
“No,” his face withered, Ling Zhun murmured.
“No?” Qiu Jingxian grinned hideously, stepping closer to the bed, “Who else but you gave Yin Chunnuan the Wuzi Soup?”
He merely didn’t want Nuan’er to suffer the pain of childbirth again. He loved her, loved her so humbly, almost begging.
“Who instigated the poison in her body? Who caused her poisoning? Who caused her to pass away?” Pressing closer, Qiu Jingxian gave him no chance to breathe. “It was you! It was you!”
“No...”
“It was you, Ling Zhun!”
“No... no...” His eyes unfocused, shaking his head incessantly.
“Ling Zhun, look at me, look at me!” Qiu Jingxian lunged at the bedside, grabbing his collar, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Now I’m going to tell you, not only did you kill the woman you loved most, but you will also kill the woman your son loves most.” The two were almost face to face. Qiu Jingxian turned her gaze to Yuexia, a cold smile curling her lips. “The day Consort Cheng died, I put the last bottle of Ephemeral Flower in her medicinal soup.”
She remembered. Wasn’t Ephemeral Flower the poison that even Xiuyuan couldn’t do anything about? Now, she was poisoned? Poisoned with this antidote that could only be resolved by a lover’s soul?
The belated memory poured over Yuexia like cold water, drenching her completely.
“Why?” His grey beard trembled slightly, Ling Zhun asked weakly.
“Why poison Han Yuexia?” Qiu Jingxian sneered. “Though I didn’t know Han Yuexia was Feng Yunqing before, your son nervously ordered the eight palace gates to be on high alert, to immediately report to the Imperial Library once Miss Han entered the court. Ling Zhun, do you know how happy I was to learn of this, hm?” Qiu Jingxian breathed lightly an inch from his face, smiling maliciously, “He revealed his true colors, Little Nine finally revealed his true colors.”
“Bitch!” Ling Zhun raised a hand and slapped her to the ground.
“That’s right! I hate him! Hate his dead mother!” Covering her right cheek, Qiu Jingxian shrieked hysterically, “Yin Chunnuan, whom I couldn’t have, she won’t get either! Ling Yiran ruined my adopted son, so I will ruin the woman he loves most!”
Jumping off the bed, he tore a long whip from the wall. Ling Zhun furiously swung it, lashing out with all his might at the screaming deposed empress.
“Hahahahaha!” Her disheveled hair flew about. Qiu Jingxian neither dodged nor hid, still laughing madly, “Ling Zhun, you are an executioner! An executioner!”
“Shut up!” He dropped the whip, picked up the white silk from the bedside, and tightly strangled her neck.
“He...” Breath cut off, Qiu Jingxian’s face turned crimson. “He...”
“Shut up,” Ling Zhun gritted out, tightening his grip.
“He will...” A mocking smile still hung on her lips. Qiu Jingxian’s eyes bulged as she was choked. “Will... hate...”
“Shut up!” He roared, a thick, bloody taste filling his throat.
With difficulty, she pointed at the person before her, her purplish lips parting and closing: I hate you. She said it silently, her arm falling limply, a single tear slowly sliding down.
“Cough cough!” Releasing his hands, Ling Zhun turned back to the bed. “Cough! Cough!” Pushing away Dexian’s support, he staggered, stepping with heavy despair. He coughed violently, his body slowly collapsing like a fallen leaf.
“Master!”
He vomited blood, mouthful after mouthful. His aged face already showed the pallor of death: “De...”
“This servant is here, I’m here.” The Chief Eunuch sobbed, holding the old, withered body.
He looked into the distance, his eyes gradually clouding over: “I... did not...”
“Mm.”
“Did not harm her...”
“Mm.”
Facing the pot of jasmine, he tremblingly raised his arm, as if desperately trying to grasp something.
“...” He opened his mouth to call, his voice too weak to distinguish who he was calling. His fading gaze faintly softened; he reached forward, but grasped nothing.
“I love you...”
With a final sigh, his arm fell unwillingly.
“Your Majesty!”
Yuexia leaned against the door, feeling her head splitting, as if something was breaking out of her forehead. Desperate wails pierced the sky, seeming to intensify the pain. Clutching her forehead, she rushed out of the hall. She was too pained to see what was ahead, simply rushing forward instinctively, directly forward.
Foolishly, never looking back.
“Records of the Warring States? Chronicles of Qing? King Long”: King Long, personal name Zhun, was the seventh son of King Wen. Zhun excelled at endurance in his youth. In the eleventh year of Jianyuan, King Wen took his sons on a winter hunt. Zhun and his elder brother Chong shot at a roe deer; Zhun’s feather arrow struck the deer’s neck. King Wen asked, “Who hit it?” At that time, the fifth son Chong was at the height of his power, arrogant and overbearing. Chong said, “My child hit it; the seventh brother missed.” King Wen doubted him and asked again. Zhun respectfully said, “My brother speaks the truth.” Afterward, King Wen praised him: “He understands the situation, does not contend for merit; this son is extraordinary.”
King Long reigned for twenty-four years. He excelled at water conservation and supported the common people. Qing rose to become one of the powerful nations, and King Long’s contributions were immeasurable. Succeeding King Wen and preceding the First Emperor, King Long laid the foundation for a hegemonic empire and can be called a wise monarch of his generation.
On the sixteenth day of the sixth month of the twenty-fourth year of Tianzhong, King Long passed away. The First Emperor entered the palace to mourn. It was seen that the chief eunuch hanged himself, a martyr to his master, and the deposed empress Qiu lay dead. The reasons behind this remain unknown; the rights and wrongs await evaluation by later generations.
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