The southbound journey remained fraught with danger. Xu Zhou and Xu Kouyue changed to the land route midway, traveling light. To avoid drawing attention, they risked keeping only four hidden guards. Xie Sui’an took most of the retinue and continued openly on the waterway, pretending she was still escorting Xu Zhou.
Three days later, the royal siblings arrived safely in Jinling.
Ten thousand people came to welcome them, hundreds of officials paid homage. Xu Zhou took residence in the Taiji Hall, selected an auspicious day for the coronation ceremony, paid respects at the imperial ancestral temple, made offerings to heaven and earth, and established the new dynasty.
However, as the coronation ceremony approached, Xie Sui’an still hadn’t arrived in Jinling.
Xu Zhou asked eight hundred times a day, but the answers were all the same—Sixth Miss Xie was still on the road.
After they split into two groups, the boats continued south according to plan. When they stopped at Longyou Ferry to resupply, they were ambushed by a group of assassins. To prevent the pursuers from discovering that Prince Ling’an had already escaped like a cicada shedding its shell, Xie Sui’an led the hidden guards to lure the pursuers into the mountain forests, playing guerrilla warfare with them to buy time.
However, Xie Sui’an handled it with ease, maintaining constant communication with Jinling. Only after learning that Xu Zhou had safely entered the city did she shake off the pursuers and rush back, thus arriving several days late.
Xu Zhou still hoped Xie Sui’an could arrive in time for the coronation ceremony, considering her in every detail, big and small.
The Palace Guard should accompany the emperor throughout the entire ceremony, fulfilling their protective duties. But now the only person Xu Zhou could trust was Xie Sui’an, so naturally he hoped she would stand by his side. Xu Zhou thought this would be simple, but unexpectedly his request was rejected by the Ministry of Rites. There was no precedent in any dynasty for women serving in the Palace Guard. Moreover, even if Xie Sui’an had merit from supporting the dragon, even if the emperor personally appointed her as protector, she had no rank or official position—what court robes should she wear, what weapons should she carry, whether her conduct and bearing would be appropriate—none of this had been determined. Without rules, there can be no order. The Ministry of Rites believed it inappropriate for her to stand beside the new emperor during such a grand and solemn ceremony.
Regarding his subjects’ advice and memorials, Xu Zhou was always trembling with fear, afraid of doing poorly and being unworthy of his position. But on this matter alone, he was very insistent.
No one could empathetically understand what Xie Sui’an meant to him. He disliked her, even feared her a little, yet he also depended on her.
She was a blade without a handle—grasping the edge brought the pain of being cut. She helped him kill enemies and eliminate dangers, but also left him covered in wounds. Yet he needed these wounds to constantly remind him of the price of being a king.
He had originally been a protected shell, until Pang Yu’s death tore open a cruel gap, letting him see beneath the mountains and rivers a dark web woven from flesh and blood. She was the intersection of that dark web—her family, lover, friends all sacrificing one after another for his southern crossing. Her existence constantly reminded him how many bones he stepped upon.
He had tried to escape, but she slapped him awake.
Those airtight protections kept him from mortal danger, but she gave him something very important, allowing him to be reborn from destruction, rebuilding from confusion.
Probably courage.
So with a touch of obsession, he insisted that Xie Xiaoliu appear at the coronation ceremony as a military officer of the Palace Guard. That was Pang Yu’s position, and it was also her position.
She came for Pang Yu’s mission—he wanted to fulfill it for her.
But most people would only fantasize about his favor, thinking that a man and woman staying together day and night might have already become husband and wife during the journey.
Xu Zhou found it ridiculous—could there only be romantic feelings between men and women?
But he couldn’t stop such whispered gossip.
Some subjects even suggested making Xie Sui’an a consort, so she could rightfully stand at the coronation ceremony.
When people thought of women, they always assumed that flying up to become a phoenix was every woman’s ultimate pursuit. But Xu Zhou knew Xie Xiaoliu could never be trapped in the imperial harem. If he harbored such thoughts, that would be true desecration of her.
He understood clearly and firmly rejected such suggestions. Only he didn’t know why there was an inexplicable sense of loss lingering around him.
The emperor’s persistence finally made his subjects waver. In the end, Princess Imperial Xu Kouyue stepped forward and had the Imperial Wardrobe create a female-style military court robe for Xie Sui’an, setting a precedent.
Xu Zhou became enthusiastic again, frequently asking whether Xie Sui’an had returned, visiting Xu Kouyue four or five times a day to see how the clothing was progressing, even personally drawing patterns for the embroidery on the court robe.
Xu Kouyue felt her younger brother was being rather childish—after all, he was about to inherit the throne. She subtly reminded him that an emperor’s excessive eagerness would only make others suspicious of Sixth Miss Xie’s reputation.
Xu Zhou, once reminded, accepted advice readily and suddenly became quiet, meekly allowing others to arrange everything, doing whatever needed to be done for the coronation ceremony.
Working day and night, Xu Kouyue watched the embroiderers cut the last thread. This one-of-a-kind court robe was completed the night before the coronation ceremony, but until dawn broke, the owner of this garment still hadn’t returned.
Xu Kouyue felt somewhat regretful.
In a daze, she found herself surrounded and standing before the square in front of the imperial ancestral temple.
Under the blinding sunlight stretched endless banners, crowds of people arranged in orderly formations. As far as the eye could see, there were nothing but black caps with long wings and court robes of various colors.
All officials entered and knelt.
Xu Kouyue looked up to see Xu Zhou sitting on the high altar, layers of ceremonial robes weighing him down, making one momentarily unsure whether what sat there was a dragon robe or a person. Looking more carefully, Xu Zhou’s face, which still held youthful qualities, now bore a dignity befitting the imperial court.
He seemed completely focused.
The tension in Xu Kouyue’s heart eased slightly.
The Grand Astrologer held a tablet and approached from the left, kneeling facing north, reciting the imperial proclamation: “…The late emperor reigned for twenty-eight years, experiencing the world’s upheavals, fortunately relying on the spirits of our ancestors, surviving through danger. Yet looking up at the celestial signs and down at the people’s hearts, the fiery essence has ended, and fortune rests with the Xu clan. Now we restore glory to our ancestors, inherit the throne, and illuminate the bright mandate—this can surely be known. Receiving Heaven’s bright virtue to shepherd the common people; the monarch inheriting the ancestral line to continue the great succession…”
The lengthy proclamation made Xu Zhou drift into distraction. He thought again of that new garment hanging unnoticed in the Imperial Wardrobe. Xie Xiaoliu—she should come and see this path to the imperial court, for she too had contributed to it.
He only remembered that day as extremely complex and long. He felt neither the expected excitement nor trepidation, simply completing the ceremony step by step without a single error. Everything seemed unreal, people’s faces became blurred.
From this moment on, he and power were bound together in mutual dependence.
Starting from this day, he, such an ordinary person, became a significant entry in the history books. And behind this entry lay hidden countless tragedies.
When the ceremony ended, a suppressed message finally had to be presented to Xu Zhou.
No one dared to speak. Finally, Xu Kouyue stepped forward. But before she could open her mouth, she suddenly heard the emperor on the dragon throne speak dimly.
“I already know.”
Xu Kouyue was stunned, suddenly understanding many things. His enthusiasm for that court robe might have been his desperate attempt to hide his premonition of loss. His almost obsessive preparation for her arrival, as if this would guarantee her return. And his sudden silence as the coronation approached, his unprecedented lack of concern about where she was—he was forcing himself to accept the passing of an old friend with imperial dignity.
Xu Zhou showed no expression for a long time.
They had separated only days before, and the rippling light seen through the ship’s bulwark still seemed vivid.
Xie Xiaoliu had cursed the damned traitor in Jinling who killed Minister Zhongshu and forced them to be careful even in the final stretch. But fearing Xu Zhou would be too nervous, she comforted him, saying Jinling was no longer Qi territory—they only had scattered remnants left, unable to stir up any trouble.
Xu Zhou thought the same.
The Qi forces in the south no longer posed a threat.
They split into two groups only to avoid any accidents.
Xie Xiaoliu put on his clothes—the overly long sleeves and hem looked somewhat comical. She waved her sleeves and couldn’t help giggling. She had to wear a very tall bamboo hat and stuff cotton in the clothes to look like a man’s figure from a distance. But up close it was easy to see through the disguise, so she gave up this impersonation game and found a hidden guard with a build similar to Xu Zhou’s.
For some reason, in Xu Zhou’s memory, Xie Xiaoliu seemed very tall. Only at that moment did he realize she was just the size of an ordinary woman.
To develop martial arts comparable to men’s must have been very difficult.
This thought flashed through his mind.
At the time, it seemed perfectly ordinary.
…
Not long after separating from Xu Zhou, Xie Sui’an’s group was ambushed at the dock. Fortunately, they had prepared in advance, so the initial response wasn’t too chaotic.
Xie Sui’an led the opponents into the mountain forest to stall for time. If they discovered there was no Prince Ling’an here, they would immediately turn around to intercept on the land route.
But she belatedly realized the opponents had set an ambush in the forest.
She had underestimated their determination. This was their last chance—the Qi people had mobilized all their assassins in Jiangnan to complete this killing mission. Each was a top expert with deadly moves.
However, Xie Sui’an felt a flash of relief—they had prepared early, and fortunately Xu Zhou hadn’t taken the same route as her.
She looked at the silver blades flickering dimly in the shadows and actually felt somewhat exhilarated. Among these people, might there be someone who had fought Pang Yu? Finally, she could fight with everything she had.
For every person she killed, every moment she fought, Xu Zhou would be a bit safer, and Pang Yu’s revenge would be avenged a little more.
Very worthwhile.
Xie Sui’an fled in the mountains for two days, fighting the enemy until the last moment. Her body was like cloth full of holes, blood flowing from everywhere. She shouldn’t have been able to walk anymore, yet she still ran very, very far.
In the end, her view of the world was tinged with a layer of blood.
She didn’t know if it was the blood in her eyes affecting her vision, or if the world really was this color.
She and Xu Zhou’s double were forced to the edge of a cliff. When they stopped, her body finally had a moment to feel the pain everywhere.
She no longer had strength to hold her sword. So tired—she wanted to act spoiled, throw down her hands and quit. Then someone would come coax her like before, willingly lose to her.
An arrow shot off the man’s veil, and they finally discovered the person they’d been chasing wasn’t Prince Ling’an.
The mighty wind swept through the mountain forest, lifting the young woman’s hair. Xie Sui’an raised her head and laughed heartily.
“You’re too late.”
The furious enemies ordered the arrows to be released.
Countless arrows like blooming fireworks fell upon her. In the last second of consciousness, she remembered the summer of Yongkang’s twentieth year, when she disguised herself as a man in the Eastern Capital, following behind Xie Chao’en, eating and drinking freely, stealing chickens and touching dogs, living extravagantly, just like a little devil incarnate.
At that time, Pang Yu was still troubled about whether he might be gay. They strolled under the fireworks of the Qixi Festival when a spark from somewhere splashed onto her robe, burning half her clothes.
Wearing half a garment, she hid embarrassedly behind the bustling opera stage. Pang Yu stared at her undergarment for a long while, then suddenly cried out in alarm and scampered far away. Xiaoliu thought he wouldn’t come back, but unexpectedly after a while this blockhead ran back with his face flushed red, stubbornly averting his eyes from her, threw his outer robe to her, then walked away angrily.
She coaxed him for a long time, but this person wouldn’t even look at her once.
But Xie Xiaoliu knew it was because his face would turn red whenever he saw her.
He was probably the most straightforward person in the world. So honest that people couldn’t help but want to tease him, watching his face flush completely red, flustered and unable to say half a word, before she would smugly stop.
They fell in love in the autumn of Yongkang’s twentieth year. He first kissed her tremblingly among the falling autumn leaves.
They held each other’s hands tightly, embracing naive hope, thinking everything would get better and better. They didn’t know then that those were already the best years.
Then he died in the unnoticed snowy mountains. Then she fell on the first day the new dynasty was established.
She thought Xu Zhou should have reached Jinling safely. If there was any regret, it was that she never got to tell Xie Chao’en, “I forgive you.”
But it didn’t matter—Xie Chao’en was a ruthless person; he had ways to convince himself.
Her mission was complete. She could go find Pang Yu with a clear conscience. When they met again, he would definitely be the one to coax her. She would excitedly gesture to him about how amazing she was, how many enemies she’d killed—surely he couldn’t beat her now.
The young emperor sat in the empty Taiji Hall crying loudly, clutching a corner of cloth torn by thorns—the half-burned robe from Yongkang’s twentieth year had transformed into a butterfly and flown into his hands.
This was the last thing people could find related to Xie Sui’an.