The people in the room were in complete chaos. The girls, having never experienced such things, were both shocked and terrified at the sight, crying out in heartbroken sorrow.

The person who had once been as pure and noble as magnolia blossoms on the branches, exquisite and intelligent with every talent, who would have thought she would be trampled to such a state? If her husband’s calculated scheming was the deepest injury, then being misunderstood by the brother she wholeheartedly supported and abandoned by all of Daye—what could sustain her will to live?

Yu Qixia’s command shook heaven and earth: “Quickly summon the imperial physician! Quickly!”

There was no time to worry about distinctions between outer and inner court officials. Jin Shi stepped forward to check her condition, feeling for the pulse at her neck and lifting the quilt to press her Zhongwan, Neiguan, Weishu, and Ximen acupoints. Being a martial artist, he knew nothing of medical theory or pharmacology, only that this was a good method to stop bleeding. He struggled to control his trembling hands, then pressed her tiger’s mouth and philtrum, murmuring: “You cannot have an accident, cannot have an accident…”

A man accustomed to life and death suddenly discovered that death was such a fearsome thing. If it happened to himself, it would just be a matter of gritting teeth and stamping feet—whether ascending to heaven or descending to earth was up to him. But this was a delicate princess who considered even a thorn in her hand equivalent to an assault, let alone suddenly coughing up blood. To watch someone you can’t forget wither from full bloom through wind and frost to decay into mud—what bone-deep despair that was. He had traveled across thousands of mountains and rivers to return to her side hoping she would live well, not to see her off on her final journey.

Perhaps because rescue came in time, she finally responded, only moaning softly about pain. As for where it hurt, there was no follow-up.

The imperial physician finally arrived, blocked outside by a wall of people. Those medical officials consulted to prescribe remedies, discussing inside while a stove was already set up outside. The physician said Her Highness had injured her heart and lungs from excessive grief, causing convulsions, unconsciousness, and reverse flow of qi and blood. To recover completely, she would need to renounce the seven emotions and six desires from now on. In other words, this illness was difficult to cure unless she entered a Buddhist convent?

His heart was anxious, but he could no longer approach her closely, only entrusting Tonghuan: “You must help me watch over Her Highness.”

Tonghuan nodded, staying by her side without leaving an inch. Seeing those slender eyebrows tightly knitted, she must be very uncomfortable, just unable to speak.

Xiao You sobbed continuously nearby. It was Tonghuan who calmed down first, saying in a low voice: “Her Highness is not in great danger—stop crying. Quickly prepare clean clothes and bedding, and wring out hot towels. With so much to do, when is there time for you to cry!”

Only after this scolding did Xiao You come to her senses, hurriedly taking the maids to prepare. Tonghuan rolled up her sleeves to wipe the corners of her mouth. After some time, the blood had congealed somewhat. As she wiped, she couldn’t help choking up herself. Where was the bright and spirited person from their first meeting? In just six years, how had she become like this!

Was a person’s fate truly predetermined from past lives? Today glorious and prosperous, tomorrow suddenly plummeting—such ups and downs were too heart-stopping. Now she had no will to live; they had to think of a way to lift her spirits.

She bent down and whispered in her ear: “Your Highness, let’s recover our health and leave Daye. Take little master and go find Xiao Zhangyin, shall we? He’s not dead—I heard he’s selling wine for a living in a southern tributary state. Let’s go there and open a silk shop next to his house. Business would surely be good… You must get better. If others won’t give you a way to live, you must stubbornly live anyway. Let them fight each other bloody—we’ll avoid seeing it and won’t care about them anymore.”

She indeed showed some motivation, struggling to open her eyes to look at her, asking intermittently: “He… is really… still there?”

Tonghuan nodded through her tears: “Yes, he and the Empress are both not dead—they’re both alive. This servant will take you to find them. Weren’t you fondest of Yin Lou and Xiao Duo? In the future you can be with your close friends—they’ll never hurt you.”

She closed her eyes again, tears sliding down from the corners. They wanted to fly far away and feared news leaking out, so they even kept it from her. But she didn’t blame them—as long as they were alive, that was good. Perhaps she really could go find them. Having worried enough about Daye anyway, it was time to lay down the burden.

With the will to live, her heart gradually calmed. After taking medicine and sleeping for two days, the pain in her chest lessened. As long as she didn’t think about the war, she wouldn’t feel discomfort again. Recalling the experience afterward, she even smiled: “I just suddenly felt nauseous and thought it was morning sickness. I tried to sit up but couldn’t muster the strength. Vomiting blood is different from vomiting food—when I had morning sickness my throat hurt terribly, but vomiting blood felt ordinary, even somewhat sweet… If I had died then it wouldn’t have mattered. I saw Father and Mother—they were carrying lanterns to receive me. Later it was the commander who forcibly pulled me back, otherwise I probably would have followed them.”

Her description was so eerie that Xiao You crouched by her legs saying: “You’re so young—how could you follow them? Even the closest people become heartless when they die. They should have driven you back—how could they carry lanterns to receive you!”

But she laughed: “They did that for my good. Living is such torment for me. Though you all worry about me too, none of you can replace me…” She gradually trailed off, turning to look at Jin Shi. “Commander, I want to entrust something to you.”

Since that day, the lines on Jin Shi’s face could never be firm again. He bent down, answering in an accommodating, submissive posture: “Whatever Your Highness commands, this subject will obey completely.”

She raised her hand, pointing first to nearby Tonghuan and Xiao You, then to distant Yu Qixia: “If I die someday, they… and the two nannies, I entrust them all to you. Help me take them away, out of Nanyuan territory. Where they go afterward, let them decide themselves.”

Tonghuan and Xiao You were stunned, but Jin Shi agreed: “Your Highness can rest assured—this subject will not fail your trust. But as long as Your Highness lives one day, this subject will guard you one day. How long have this subject and Your Highness known each other?”

Wanwan lowered her head and began counting on her fingers: “I returned to the Grand Princess Residence in Beijing at seventeen—one year, two years… it will be exactly five years soon.”

Jin Shi appeared very melancholy: “Five years, yet this subject has done nothing for Your Highness. I feel ashamed.”

She said no: “The commander is loyal and brave. To me, you’re like the Factory Minister—someone worth relying on.”

This evaluation gave him enormous comfort: “What virtue or ability does this subject have to dare compare with the Factory Duke? But this subject’s heart is the same as the Factory Duke’s—as long as Your Highness’s path is smooth, even if this subject crawls at your feet, I’ll ensure your unobstructed passage.”

She showed a faint smile: “I know the commander’s heart—utterly loyal and devoted, quite rare.”

Actually she didn’t know completely, or rather only saw the surface. It didn’t matter—as long as he could silently guard her without becoming a burden, he was already satisfied.

They began planning how to leave. Yu Qixia said he had previously hidden gunpowder—this was good news. With completely unequal numbers on both sides, that gunpowder could destroy everything or bring hope. Even in truly desperate circumstances, sacrificing one or two people to eliminate most of the guards would be quite worthwhile.

The Jin Yi Guards mapped out all the defenses around the Princess Residence, compiling them into a chart with detailed divisions of who was responsible for which direction. When preparations were nearly complete, Tonghuan came in to inform her: “Yu Chengfeng and Jin Commander have secretly discussed for a long time and set the breakthrough route. In two days it will be Mid-Autumn Festival. Those Qi people value holidays—their spirits will surely be lax during the festival. We’ll seize that opportunity to rush out.”

She looked up blankly: “Are there good odds? I still hope they won’t take risks—don’t let everyone get battered and bruised for just me alone. Besides, where could I go…”

Tonghuan said: “To find Xiao Zhangyin! Didn’t you agree last time? Have you forgotten?”

She made an “oh” sound. Her memory had become very poor—she would forget tomorrow what she said today, not knowing why.

She rubbed her eyes again: “I haven’t had trouble seeing people lately, and I can see the words in books clearly too.”

Tonghuan said that was very good, talking with her like coaxing a child. Sometimes she would speak incoherently.

Her behavior was also strange—often sitting in the shadows under the corridor, slightly squinting, gazing quietly and melancholically toward the horizon. The sky was empty, yet she stared transfixed. Then there was the child—logically at five months she should be showing, but this time there was no movement at all. When the imperial physician checked her pulse, he said it was still there but spoke evasively and unclearly. It seemed the foundation was damaged—there were two possibilities: either the child was small and growing slowly, or more pessimistically, Her Highness had exhausted her heart’s blood through this catastrophe. If after another half month the abdomen still didn’t bulge, that would be quite ominous. Medicine would be needed to abort the child, otherwise a dead fetus remaining in the body would be harmful to Her Highness’s health.

Tonghuan was deeply worried but didn’t dare tell her the physician’s words, only discussing with Yu Qixia. Originally they planned to postpone the plan, but the opportunity was rare. After pondering, Yu Qixia made the decision: “Bring a physician along on the journey to attend her closely and help preserve the pregnancy.”

The Mid-Autumn Festival arrived in a blink. Everything was prepared. Fearing sentries might be monitoring from high places, everyone remained scattered in their usual positions, quietly waiting for darkness. Under their armor, the Jin Yi Guards all carried thin bamboo tubes filled with gunpowder—each person carried about ten. At the critical moment they would light them, swearing to protect the Grand Princess’s escape even unto death.

But things were always so coincidental. At lamp-lighting time came a series of hurried footsteps. A young eunuch rushed in breathlessly, saying in his duck-like voice: “Your lordships, Her Highness is bleeding—I’m afraid we can’t leave today.”

The child was indeed lost again. At that time Wanwan was fully dressed, just waiting for word from outside. Who knew that as she sat, her lower abdomen began to ache with a bearing-down pain. After waiting another two quarters of an hour, like a flood bursting its banks, the cushion beneath her was actually wet. Not knowing what was wrong, she instinctively touched with her hand and held it up to the lamplight—her palm was bright red. The heavy metallic smell of blood spread as she murmured it was over—she hadn’t managed to keep it after all and had delivered a stillborn child.

The poor child was even smaller than the last one, so Wanwan didn’t suffer too much. But her heart was broken and could never be mended again. They wrapped it in silk and took it away. She turned her head to the other side, her mind full of wild thoughts. Not one government office in the Daye court was useful except the Imperial Observatory, which most deserved the black gauze cap on its head. How accurately they calculated—shallow fate with family… She slowly lowered her eyelids and gave a twisted twitch of her lips. Good—clean now, completely unburdened. Last time the pain was unbearable, but this time she actually felt relief. Her life was hopeless anyway—leaving a child to follow her old path in the future, with a lifetime of endless suffering, why bother?

They couldn’t leave on the Mid-Autumn Festival, but every cloud has a silver lining. Those guards were worthy of being Prince Nanyuan’s personal troops. Though they also celebrated the festival, there were even more of them, working in two shifts with continuous patrols around the buildings—there was simply no opportunity to exploit.

Wanwan called Jin Shi and Yu Qixia to thank them for their sincerity, finally saying: “I’ve thought quite a lot. If Daye’s destruction is Heaven’s will, then we can only accept fate. Prince Nanyuan will always return to see me. When that time comes, you should disperse—don’t risk your lives for anyone anymore. Live well. I already cannot face the three hundred Chang Wei spirits—if I add you all to them, I’ll be even less able to live.”

She disagreed with leaving and seemed to have lost the resolve to resist. Since she had thought it through, they would all listen to her: “We subjects have only one thing to say—if Your Highness fights, we fight; if Your Highness makes peace, we make peace.”

She smiled dully: “It’s ‘if Your Highness surrenders, we surrender.'” She turned to ask Yu Qixia: “Where has Prince Nanyuan attacked to?”

Yu Qixia hesitated before saying: “He’s already passed Liangxiang and is advancing toward Fangshan.”

Her smile mixed with bitterness, like the cold, gloomy weather outside: “So fast… cutting through all obstacles—remarkable, remarkable!”

Whether praise or criticism, no one could fathom the mystery in her words. After a long time she sighed and flipped through the almanac: “New Year is coming. Fortunately, though the Princess Residence is surrounded, we don’t lack for food and drink. Prepare well—let’s all have a peaceful New Year. The more heaven and earth overturn outside, the more peaceful we are here… Don’t disappoint Heaven’s good intentions.”

There was still over a month until New Year. She began cutting window decorations—magpies on branches, trailing melons… all intricate and auspicious patterns. The entire residence had over thirty windows. She cut one each day, just enough to use them all by year’s end.

The winter Grand Princess Residence looked gray and dreary—even the painted decorations under the eaves had dimmed. But with window decorations pasted up, it seemed to regain vitality. Like dotting red lips on a deathly pale face—the contrast was striking and quite beautiful.

Her eyes could only adapt to dim light. When spring came, she disliked the spring sunshine, so curtains were hung early under the eaves for blocking. After a plain and unremarkable New Year, the period afterward was extraordinarily cold for a long stretch. She sat wrapped in bedding on the kang, occasionally taking out maps to look at, estimating when news of the city’s fall would arrive—from Fangshan to the Nine Gates was just a step away, wasn’t it?

Blow after blow—actually she never got used to them. She kept waiting, as if just lacking one catalyst, and then everything could rest. Reflecting on these years of her life—losing her parents young, then Elder Brother dying, Xiao Duo leaving, marrying a man with wolfish ambitions, and probably not meeting a good end herself. Obviously such a precious fate—why had she lived it with the bitterness of bitter herbs? Perhaps it was her character—if she had been weaker, more accepting of circumstances, she should have been much happier than now.

In the season when willow catkins filled the sky, looking out through the delicate latticed windows created the strange feeling of heavy snow under brilliant sunshine. Having been cooped up in the house too long, she occasionally wanted to go out and look around. Not going far, just standing in the courtyard, her eyes that couldn’t bear sunlight would tear up naturally in the wind, though her face was smiling. Without reaching out to catch them, just spreading her palms flat like this, willow catkins would still fall and rest in the spaces between her fingers.

Such light, such small things were always at the mercy of others. She was the same—though she had the heart to change heaven and earth, she lacked the fate to change heaven and earth.

She pursed her lips and blew them away with a breath. In a trance she remembered running by Rainbow Bridge amid ranks of misty willows in early summer when she was fourteen. How joyful she was then—a carefree youth who thought she would be so satisfied her whole life. Looking back now, she realized each person’s life could only bear limited wealth and status. When you enjoyed too much, you had to repay it in other ways.

After lamenting for a while, she took two deep breaths and planned to return inside. Turning around, she glimpsed Tonghuan standing at the door with someone dressed as a messenger, seemingly hesitating whether to let him in.

She stopped and asked what was wrong. Tonghuan said: “There’s a letter from the capital.”

Her heart was unusually calm. A letter from the capital—besides the Emperor, no one else would remember her now!

“Let him in.”

Tonghuan brought the person before her. She looked once and recognized this face—it was Pingchuan, who served before the throne. He held the letter flat and presented it to her, not bowing respectfully as usual. It seemed even eunuchs looked down on her now.

She smiled, her tone still very gentle: “Pingchuan, it’s been a long time.”

Only then did he bow slightly: “Your Highness is well. This subject was sent by His Majesty to deliver a family letter to Your Highness. Please review it.”

She took the letter in her hand. The handwriting on it was familiar—regardless of the contents, her heart warmed up.

Tonghuan said: “The guards have already checked it—probably nothing wrong, that’s why they let it into the residence.”

In the past, who would dare openly inspect imperial correspondence? This showed how different things were now. She asked Pingchuan about the Emperor’s recent situation. Pingchuan answered stiffly: “The old master’s circumstances are all written in the letter. Your Highness should read it yourself.”

Yu Qixia glared angrily and scolded him harshly. Wanwan said not to be angry: “Take him down to rest and have some food. You all go too—let me be alone.”

After dismissing them, she sat down at the writing desk and pulled out a sheet of Huanhua paper from the already opened envelope—this Second Brother of hers was always so poetic. Huanhua paper was also called Xue Tao paper, created by the courtesan Xue Tao. So even if jade shattered, it should shatter gracefully. She had learned nothing else from him except this bearing of remaining calm even when Mount Tai collapsed before one’s eyes—that was quite worth savoring.