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Yan Luo draped a thin silk cloth over her, noticing that even in her sleep, her brow remained furrowed. She then brought out a green-glazed lotus-shaped incense burner from the inner chamber. Mixing jasmine tea leaves with sandalwood, she lit a wisp of fragrant smoke that drifted lazily by the window.
As she left the inner room, Yan Luo glanced quickly at the sick plum tree tucked away in the corner. A second branch had been pruned, and the scars from earlier cuts had already blended seamlessly with the trunk, almost indistinguishable.
Hidden in shadow, it appeared lifeless. Yet, who could have guessed it still harbored the strength to renew itself?
Seeing this filled her with unexpected joy. She moved a lacquered red chair to the window where Luo Wei lay drunkenly slumped, leaning against the carved wooden frame to admire the moon.
Luo Wei stirred slightly, seemingly aware of her movements but unwilling to rise. Lazily sprawled by the window, she noticed Yan Luo’s prolonged silence and suddenly asked, “Do you think Bu Jun hated me when he passed?”
Yan Luo smiled and countered, “If I had told you everything back then, knowing nothing, would you hate me now?”
Luo Wei mumbled, “That’s not the same… If I hadn’t known anything back then… there wouldn’t be a ‘then’ or a ‘now’…”
Yan Luo tilted her head up and asked, “There are so many things in this world worth cherishing. Why did you—and why does Bu Jun now—decide to give it all up?”
Luo Wei fumbled blindly across the small table, picking up an empty wine cup and holding it up to toast her: “Let me ask you something. On the day your family fell apart, what was in your heart?”
Seeing the cup upside down, Yan Luo reached to right it for her: “I swore I would survive—to avenge everyone.”
Luo Wei instead thrust the cup into Yan Luo’s hands: “Well said. Back then… I wasn’t as strong as you.”
Her hand dropped limply, exhaustion weighing heavier on her: “When I was young, my elder brother secretly went to Youzhou. I took his name and followed Ling Ye to Xu Prefecture to study at Master Zheng’s academy. That year, locusts ravaged Xu Prefecture, and our studies were interrupted as he led disaster relief efforts. We stayed there for over three months. When peace returned, under another full moon night, he took me to the Golden Hall atop Xu Mountain to make a vow…”
Yan Luo listened quietly; this story had never been shared before.
“He said that for the rest of his life, he wished to burn himself for his country and its people.”
“Growing up in Bianjing, I had heard countless teachings from sages, but they all felt so distant and intangible. It wasn’t until we walked along the roads of Xu Prefecture… Dew dripped from the roadside trees, passersby hurried with heavy hoes yet hummed cheerful tunes. The locusts were under control, and crops were just beginning to sprout. An elderly woman brushed past me, saying how grateful she was for the government’s actions this year. By autumn’s harvest, even her youngest daughter might get new clothes… At that moment, I felt such profound joy and calm. Looking up, I saw ‘countless green peaks in the mist.’ The dawn sun was about to rise, the road stretched wide like a blue sky. He held my hand, and we walked slowly between heaven and earth. I thought, so this is the land from books, this is our nation!”
By the time she finished, Yan Luo blinked, realizing tears had unknowingly streamed down her cheeks.
A faint smile spread across Luo Wei’s face: “Together, we vowed that life is a gift bestowed by heaven. Given the splendor and opportunities we’ve received, we must aspire to such ideals… The oath at the Golden Hall lingered unceasingly. Thanks to that vow, when I held my sword that night, I hesitated for a moment.”
The moon dimmed briefly behind passing clouds. Yan Luo waited for her to continue but heard only silence. Turning her head, she realized Luo Wei had fallen asleep again.
She herself felt no drowsiness, gazing at the moon through the window. Growing weary, she decided to fetch a cup of wine from the small table, only to find the jugs completely drained, their remnants spilled.
Amused and exasperated, Yan Luo rearranged the cups and adjusted the silk draped over Luo Wei.
Through the sleepless night, she heard her murmur repeatedly in her dreams: “Happy Lantern Festival.”
Yan Luo thought that whether awake or asleep, she must deeply regret not shouting those words amidst the crowd back then.
________________________________________
Over and over, Luo Wei dreamed of that shadowy Lantern Festival night. Though lanterns illuminated the streets like endless daylight, the clearest memory etched in her mind was the fleeting gaze exchanged across the sea of people, shrouded in fragrant mist, with Song Leng looking back at her from afar.
If only she had known it would be their final glance—
But she hadn’t even understood his last words.
That Lantern Festival night, after the Crown Prince’s assassination, she was delivered home by Lu Heng in a daze. Upon regaining clarity, refusing to believe, she personally led the Jintian Guard to search the Bian River from midnight until dawn—only to find nothing but the shattered remains of a far-traveling cap.
The tolling of mourning bells echoed heavily. The Jintian Guards accompanying her knelt toward the imperial city, crying out “Long Live the Emperor!” Their sobs were uncontrollable.
The world turned dark and chaotic. January had barely passed, and the streets remained desolate. Snowflakes swirled above, turning daylight into night.
Step by step, Luo Wei walked along the cordoned-off Imperial Street.
Scattered traces of the Lantern Festival littered the ground: crushed lanterns, hairpins lost in the commotion, men’s hats, abandoned goods from fleeing vendors, and tracks left by speeding carriages.
What had this place looked like last night? What had it been before today? How could such a magnificent, dreamlike night leave behind only ruins?
She heard voices urgently calling her—”Miss,” “Miss,” and “Luo Wei.” She wanted to respond but found she lacked even the strength to part her lips. Looking up at the mist-shrouded imperial city, she wanted to call out—”Father,” “Mother,” “Uncle,” and “Second Brother.”
But none of them were here anymore.
She remembered the morning her father passed. She knelt by his bedside as Su Zhoudu grasped her hand, caressing it for a long while but unable to speak. His gaze turned to the emperor beside him.
Her elder brother, Su Shiyu, knelt before her, crying: “Father, rest assured. I will not disgrace our family.”
Su Zhoudu patted his shoulder feebly.
And Emperor Gao solemnly promised: “Leng and I will take good care of Luo Wei.”
A faint smile graced Su Zhoudu’s face. He nodded gently, gazing at his late wife’s memorial tablet, and closed his eyes forever.
All around were cries of grief, but neither Luo Wei nor the emperor shed tears.
In her numbness, Luo Wei recalled how, when her father first fell ill, he had taken her hand to write “The ancients have already ridden the yellow crane away.” She had asked him what “life and death” meant, but he simply replied: “As long as you remember this person—their likes and dislikes, their ambitions and ideals—even if they ride the yellow crane away, the Yellow Crane Tower will forever stand. Though the crane departs, the tower remains. For posterity to mourn and reflect upon is the best way to remember the departed.”
She bowed deeply, the scenes before her spinning like a revolving lantern, dizzying and disorienting. Before fainting, she heard the emperor murmur softly by the bedside: “The unfulfilled ideals of the Golden Hall will surely come true.”
Now he too was gone. Were those ideals remembered by anyone?
Luo Wei gazed at the empty Imperial Street stretching endlessly toward the Heavenly Gate, letting out a soft laugh. Beneath the rapidly spinning lantern in her mind, she collapsed into unconsciousness.
She was taken home by Su Shiyu and remained unconscious for two days. Upon waking, she struggled to rise and went to the ancestral hall.
Though Su Shiyu refrained from telling her the news outside, she understood when she saw the blood-stained remnants of the far-traveling cap floating in the water—he would likely never return.
Facing her father’s memorial tablet and the flickering candles in the ancestral hall, Luo Wei calmly drew the short sword hidden in her sleeve.
This sword had been gifted to her by Song Leng during a spring tour. Its hilt was intricately engraved with patterns of purple wisteria and begonia, adorned with gemstones. She cherished it immensely, carrying it everywhere, meticulously cleaning it, reluctant to let others see it.
Holding the sword, she thought blankly: Now, deep in winter, the Bian River’s surface was thinly frozen. So cold, so dark. Falling injured from the Tinghua Terrace into the river, wouldn’t he have been freezing? With so many royal guards, why hadn’t they saved him? Why did he die alone and cold in the icy waters of that winter night?
The sharp blade neared her throat, drawing a faint line of blood. Strangely, she felt no pain.
Looking up, she saw the stacked memorial tablets in the ancestral hall. First was “Su Wen Zheng Gong, posthumous name Chao Ci,” then “Su Wen De Gong, posthumous name Zhou Du.” Beside them read: “The yellow crane has flown, but eternity remains.”
Upon reading these words, a flood of memories surged forward. Her hand trembled uncontrollably, nearly dropping the sword.
She tried to cover her ears, but the words kept pouring out:
“We swore together in the Golden Hall: This life, we’ll walk hand in hand, burning ourselves for the world, undeterred by nine deaths.”
“This is our land, our nation.”
“Remember his ambitions and ideals. Though the crane departs, the tower stands tall.”
“The unfulfilled vows of the Golden Hall—I’ll carry your share and fulfill them.”
“...”
“Luo Wei—”
“Luo Wei!”
In that brief hesitation, chaos erupted as someone burst into the ancestral hall and snatched the sword from her trembling hands.
Luo Wei raised her head, seeing Song Yao Feng’s tear-streaked, anxious face.
“Luo Wei, listen to me! Though Second Brother is gone, you... you must hold on. Don’t you want to know who killed him?”
She saw her lips move, heard her words, but couldn’t grasp their meaning. Only one phrase repeated endlessly in her mind:
Yes, how did he die? Who killed him? Who let him fall into the rushing waters on that bitterly cold winter night, leaving not even his bones behind?
And his ideals and ambitions—
Would anyone remember?
“...Right now, the situation in Bianjing is dire. The noble families, the power-hungry ministers—all under the Heavenly Gate—are poised for conflict. If a palace coup breaks out, how can bloodshed be contained within the Forbidden City? With unrest in the northern borders, Bianjing cannot afford more chaos.”
“You are the Crown Princess personally appointed by Father. Only you can wield the Emperor’s Sword. Shiyu is Su Xiang’s adopted son and cannot command loyalty.”
“Luo Wei...”
As they spoke in the ancestral hall, the front gates suddenly flung open. Hurried footsteps approached, and Song Lan stumbled over the high threshold, collapsing directly before them.
He scrambled up, disregarding decorum, and knelt, kowtowing. When he raised his tear-streaked face, he pleaded:
“Sister, please save me! Sister, what should we do? When I left the palace today, I encountered the imperial guards. They said the Bian River’s currents are swift, and they fear not even the Crown Prince’s remains can be recovered... What should we do? Who killed my brother?”
Song Yao Feng helped him up, anxiously inquiring about the situation in the imperial city. Luo Wei’s gaze swept over the short sword lying on the ground, her heart aching unbearably. Finally, clarity broke through the agony.
These were his loved ones, the siblings he cherished most, the imperiled royal heirs.
This was his land, the people he had sworn to protect since childhood.
His legacy, his ideals, the unfinished towers, and the forgotten hatred—all surged toward her.
Unbearable to sever, impossible to abandon.
Luo Wei retrieved the Emperor’s Sword stored atop the ancestral hall and tugged at Song Lan’s sleeve, pushing open the doors of the ancestral hall.
Outside, Yan Lang, the young lord of Yan whom they had befriended since youth, stood solemnly in the courtyard, sword in hand. Seeing her emerge, he sighed deeply, then lifted his crimson cloak and knelt.
Behind him, soldiers followed suit, kneeling en masse, the clinking of armor filling the air.
It was the seventeenth day. Luo Wei looked up to see a full, radiant moon behind the clouds.
On the seventeenth night, it was still so round, so bright.
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