After the Emperor accidentally fell and injured himself in Penglai Hall, the atmosphere throughout the Great Ming Palace underwent subtle changes.
In the past, the siblings had been intimately close. Even if separated by half the palace city, the princess would travel great distances to dine with her brother. But ever since the Emperor’s injury, the princess had not visited him personally even once, only sending attendants morning and evening to inquire about his condition.
Previously, she had often traveled through the palace with light escort, but now she had restored her proper ceremonial procession. When going out, personal guards never left her side, and two attendants carrying bows and quivers always followed behind her. Only after Li Yuanying’s injuries healed and his appearance returned to normal did she visit briefly, exchanging a few bland pleasantries.
Palace servants privately whispered rumors that Penglai Hall, where the Noble Consort had died, seemed to have unlucky feng shui that also affected her descendants.
After her violent emotions subsided, Bao Zhu gradually realized there were suspicious points about that day’s conflict. Chang Lanfang was over seventy years old and didn’t have long to live. Once the only witness passed away, the truth would be buried underground. Li Yuanying had no need to prematurely detonate this hidden danger. Given his shrewdness, if he truly wanted to reveal the truth about their mother’s death, fabricating a seamless story would have been no difficulty.
He seemed to have deliberately let her detect the flaws, prompting this rupture. But why exactly?
Imperial power was unique, and emperors and crown princes had always been a contradictory pair. The empire’s continuation required an heir, but power succession was extremely delicate, like walking on a tightrope, requiring constant careful balance. Once unbalanced, collapse was inevitable. Emperor Gaozu and Emperor Taizong, the late emperor and his sons, she and Li Yuanying, and possible future crown princes—all could not escape the fate of mutual suspicion.
Bao Zhu vaguely guessed her brother’s purpose. She loved him deeply, just as he loved her. Precisely because of this, disputes were particularly hurtful. Regardless, using their mother’s cause of death for deceptive schemes could not be easily overlooked. Their relationship was like a crack in jade—once it appeared, it could never be restored.
What pained her most was losing the last embrace in the world where she could weep with peace of mind.
But the political situation did not allow her to wallow in grief. Taking advantage of the Tang court’s power transition, Tibet once again harassed Jiannan Xichuan, the Huaixi Military Commissioner was stirring restlessly, and court factional strife continued without end. She had inherited a mess plagued by internal and external troubles. If she became mired in internal fighting, she would have no time for proper affairs.
After Li Yuanying recovered from his injuries, he no longer attended daily court sessions, secluding himself in Qingsi Hall for health cultivation, only showing his face at the grand court sessions on the first and fifteenth of each month. Bao Zhu had been pampered since childhood and had received the late emperor’s special permission not to rise early for morning greetings. Unexpectedly, after reaching adulthood, she had to get up before dawn every day to prepare for court.
Half a year after the coup, on a cool autumn night, Princess Chengtian Wanshou dressed magnificently and, in her capacity as crown prince, received Nanzhao envoys at Linde Hall, hosting a grand banquet. The gifts presented by the special envoy were a pair of white elephants and a box of auspicious dragon brain incense.
The moment the golden box opened, the familiar fragrance evoked her memories. As time passed, the difficult and arduous memories gradually blurred, while the amusing incidents from the journey became increasingly clear.
Now, related to that journey, only a dagger and a donkey remained. She often wore the dagger at her waist for protection, and Duke Lushan had been sent to Chang’an, frequently carrying her around. But the person she truly missed remained nowhere to be found, like the extraordinary masters in legendary tales who vanished into darkness after their stories ended, leaving only wistful regret.
Inside Linde Hall, candles blazed like daylight and music resounded, but the banquet’s host was melancholy and dejected—both ministers and envoys could see this. The envoys couldn’t help feeling anxious, wondering if there was some error in protocol or if their tribute gifts had failed to please the Heavenly One.
Finally, Duke Wei quietly summoned the princess’s favorite golden-haired barbarian musicians from the Court of Imperial Music to perform, which brought a slight smile to her face.
Bao Zhu came to her senses and forced herself to be spirited, ordering servants to present the generous reciprocal gifts to the envoys. This banquet was not for entertainment but to display the great nation’s bearing, negotiate with Nanzhao, and court allies against Tibet.
After the palace banquet ended, the princess, surrounded by her entourage, walked slowly from Linde Hall.
Night had deepened and the corridors were dim. Ahead, two rows of ceremonial guards carried horn lanterns to light the way. The princess, wearing a trailing gown, walked in the center, followed by two eunuchs carrying bows and quivers, then palace maids holding handkerchiefs, silver bottles, bronze mirrors, combs, and various other implements, pair after pair, the long procession extending a hundred paces like celestial beings traveling.
When they reached a corner of the palace buildings, the guards passed through first, followed by the princess. When the eunuchs carrying bows and arrows lowered their heads to follow, they discovered the princess had vanished. Within their sight were only the backs of the lamp-bearing guards ahead. The princess seemed to have melted into thin air, leaving only her lotus-flower crown on the ground, rolling and spinning in place.
“Princess?” The eunuch rubbed his eyes and called out in bewilderment.
Hearing this, the guards turned around. Seeing the empty corridor, they immediately panicked, hands on sword hilts, raising their lanterns to search everywhere.
“Princess?! Princess?!”
Outside the corridor, only autumn insects chirped with no response. She had just vanished from the escort formation of over a hundred people in plain sight.
A palace maid happened to look up at the night sky and saw, under the hazy moonlight, a light, translucent silk shawl with floral patterns slowly floating down from the air like celestial robes dropped by ascending immortals.
“Look quickly! The princess has ascended to heaven! The princess has ascended to heaven again!!!”
The cry pierced the night sky. The crowd instantly exploded with alarm, terror, fearful reverence, joyful amazement, and godly worship… Various chaotic states rapidly spread from Linde Hall. The entourage fell into complete disorder, hurriedly dispatching people to race and report to the Emperor—Princess Chengtian Wanshou had, as legend told, once again transformed and ascended to immortality, departing on the wind.
Li Yuanying had not yet fallen deeply asleep. Hearing vague sounds of panicked footsteps and voices, and Madam Li deliberately lowering her voice to speak with a visitor, he awakened and pulled open the brocade curtains, asking: “What’s wrong?”
After understanding the person’s incoherent description, the last trace of color drained from his face, and his hand gripping his sleeping robe trembled slightly.
“It’s that person…”
Seeing his alarming expression, Madam Li quickly ordered someone to brew licorice and jujube soup to calm his nerves.
At this time, Madam Yu rode hastily to Qingsi Hall. When the incident occurred, she had been busy arranging matters related to the Nanzhao envoys and was not at the scene. Seeing the princess’s dropped lotus crown, silk shawl, and other items, and hearing detailed accounts of the events, she already understood what had happened.
Li Yuanying’s face was pale with rage as he said grimly: “Order the entire Imperial Guard to mobilize and search in four directions. If she’s alone, so be it, but if two people are discovered…” He paused, then said through gritted teeth: “Don’t be rash. Don’t damage the princess’s dignity.”
Seeing him so agitated he seemed about to suffer a stroke, Madam Yu quickly consoled him: “Your humble servant understands. Please lie down and rest, my lord. I’ll immediately send someone to report the moment there’s news.”
The Great Ming Palace was vast and boundless, with countless jade towers and golden halls. Finding even an ordinary person here would be extremely difficult, let alone a “ascended” celestial being. Over a thousand palace maids, eunuchs, and Imperial Guards carried torches, searching in all directions with Linde Hall as the center. People even took boats on Taiye Pool to search. Everyone secretly wondered: She’s returned to heaven—is there any point in searching for her on earth?
A lightning-fast shadow swept over the layers of palace buildings, moving so quickly it dazzled the eyes. Before anyone could see what it was, the shadow had vanished without a trace.
Bao Zhu felt fierce wind striking her face, making it impossible to speak. Double eaves, connecting corridors, towers, tree shadows—all flashed rapidly before her eyes as that person leaped and dove, changing positions with heart-stopping speed.
When she was first snatched from the corridor, she had tried to draw her sword in self-defense. But upon reaching the rooftop and returning to that extremely familiar embrace, her grip on the sword loosened. Her short hair had now grown just past her shoulders, and the various hairpins and ornaments were not securely fastened, falling off one by one with the jolting motion.
That person carried her across the Great Ming Palace, apparently heading northeast, where the palace’s Taoist temples and Buddhist monasteries clustered. Since Li Yuanying’s accession, he had dismissed all the Taoist masters supported by the previous emperor, leaving that area largely deserted—clearly the kidnapper had scouted in advance.
They raced along until reaching Dajiao Temple in the northeast of the Great Ming Palace, where that person finally stopped and carried her into the temple. Dajiao was the name of a stellar official, the first of the seven eastern Azure Dragon constellation mansions, regarded as the location of the Heavenly Emperor’s court.
The empty temple was pitch black. After Wei Xun set her down, he couldn’t help reaching out to gently rub the diagonal red mark on her face, confirming it was just rouge makeup before relaxing and smiling:
“I saw you at the investiture ceremony holding a two-foot jade tablet, looking like you could thrash all those bearded old men in court until they crawled on the ground searching for their teeth. I thought no one would dare bully you anymore—that shouldn’t be a scar, right?”
Bao Zhu had been shaken by his leaping and bounding journey, all her hair ornaments scattered, her hair loose and disheveled, quite bedraggled. Having finally calmed her racing heart and settled her organs back in place, seeing him still with that free-spirited, carefree appearance, she was so angry her lips trembled and she couldn’t speak.
Seeing her adorned with jade and pearls, wearing pendants and ornaments, her wrists layered with gold and jade bracelets, Wei Xun teased: “When I grabbed you just now, I thought you’d gotten fat from eating well at home, but turns out it’s all jewelry. Wearing so much gold, doesn’t it make your neck ache?”
Bao Zhu gritted her teeth as she felt around her body, regretting: If I’d known I’d need to hit someone today, why didn’t I bring my ceremonial tablet?
Wei Xun took out a fire starter and shook it, lighting candles in the temple. Seeing the ancient, simple dagger—Xizhao—hanging among the sachets and jade pendants at her waist, he smiled mockingly: “Worthy of being Remnant Sun Academy’s honorary chief. You play bigger games than us, stealing official artifacts right away. Never expected the saying ‘digging one’s own grave’ meant this.”
Bao Zhu said angrily: “Did you store up a bellyful of teasing jokes and couldn’t stand it anymore, so you showed up to find me?”
Wei Xun felt somewhat awkward, cleared his throat, and said sheepishly: “Well, I died rather hastily that time and didn’t get to say goodbye properly. I should have said something dignified like ‘Like drifting thistles we part, let’s drain the cups in hand’ or ‘Don’t worry about having no friends ahead—who in the world doesn’t know you?’ before leaving.”
Hearing this, Bao Zhu was furious: “So you disappeared and faked your death just to secretly memorize farewell poems? When did you learn such bad habits from Old Yang? Didn’t you see I cried until my eyes nearly went blind?!”
Only then did Wei Xun restrain his smile, lower his head, and look thoroughly ashamed: “I’m sorry. I thought since I was about to die from illness anyway, I shouldn’t make you cry a second time. I never expected this blessing in disguise—after the poisoned blood flowed out, I mysteriously recovered. I didn’t know how to explain.”
Bao Zhu was startled: “Completely recovered?!” She raised the candle to examine him carefully. He looked much better than last year’s thin, pale, pitiful appearance—more robust, and even his austere features had subtle changes. Recalling his earlier cloud-riding, mist-threading lightness skills, they had reached an inconceivable level.
Wei Xun answered honestly: “Ninety percent recovered. Occasionally uncomfortable, but soaking in hot water provides relief.”
“I don’t believe it. Give me your hand!” she commanded.
Wei Xun hesitated, his arm rising then stopping, but Bao Zhu grabbed it forcefully. Fearing he might deceive her, she rolled up his sleeve and felt from his fingers up to his forearm. Though his body temperature was still slightly lower than normal, it was no longer the cold, rigid state that emanated death’s aura. Even the scars from when his hand tendons were severed during torture were barely visible.
Wei Xun felt his heart suddenly flutter—something was wrong. He quickly withdrew his arm and quietly stepped back.
These past months, his junior disciple had complained endlessly, wearing out his ears. He also felt leaving without saying goodbye was improper, and thinking he had finally cultivated a heart like still water, he came to formally bid farewell. He had planned to quietly knock on her bedroom window at night, exchange a few brief words, then leave, never expecting to cause such a commotion.
Who would have thought that upon infiltrating the palace, one glance at that golden-haired barbarian fawning before her would immediately disturb his peace of mind. Forgetting all about natural law and quiet non-action, unable to wait for the midnight quiet, he had stolen her from the crowd of attendants.
Now his heart was pounding wildly. He pretended to be calm and earnestly warned: “You should have all the trees in the palace cut down. Assassins can easily hide in tree shadows. I crouched in the trees, and not one person thought to look up.”
Hearing this, Bao Zhu’s heart immediately turned half cold, thinking: He’s cutting off his own retreat—he’ll never come again.
At this thought, tears threatened to fall. But now things were different from before. She held a position below one person but above ten thousand others, making her more reserved and proud. She forcibly held back her tears.
Wei Xun remembered another important matter and said: “Shisan misses you greatly.”
Bao Zhu asked coldly: “Where is that little monk hiding out now?”
“Wandering and begging for alms in Wannian County.” Wei Xun lowered his eyes and said quietly: “He… he hasn’t yet been tainted by underworld habits…”
Bao Zhu understood his meaning and said proudly: “Tell him to wait at Baotai Temple for registration. I once promised you two martial brothers a lifetime of wealth and honor. Since you won’t take it, I’ll give it all to him.”
Everything that needed saying had been said—it was time to part. Wei Xun clasped his hands in salute and said casually: “The green mountains remain unchanged, the clear waters flow forever.” With that, he turned and walked out of the temple.
The moment he crossed the threshold, Bao Zhu’s tears burst forth like a broken dam.
Born proud and arrogant, she never deigned to plead, and knew they were on different paths. His nature was unrestrained and free—he would never be coerced or bound by anyone.
Yet ultimately, she was unwilling to accept this. In the future, she might have many lovers, but no one would ever truly enter her heart again.
She yearned to keep an embrace where she could weep with peace of mind, someone she could trust without reservation.
She needed a rebellious, wild creature who would never blindly follow her commands, who would say “life has weight” and remind her not to be transformed by imperial power into some faceless monster.
For this purpose, she could use any means necessary. Whether through force, seizure, or cunning schemes, she would definitely capture him.
Bao Zhu lifted her skirts and pursued him.
The Dajiao Temple complex was located at the northeast edge of the Great Ming Palace, only five hundred paces from the palace walls. With Wei Xun’s speed, he could reach it in an instant. Yet he walked extremely slowly.
Behind him followed a technically inept hunter, her footsteps as loud as a young rhinoceros’s, with the occasional tinkling of ornaments colliding.
Go back, go back. He walked slowly forward, his heart heavy with sorrow. Her wings were fully grown—she no longer needed his protection. Guanyin had returned to her position, his mission accomplished, his service complete. All banquets under heaven must end.
Looking up, the vermillion palace walls loomed ahead. With just a leap, he would have no more connection to her. Whether golden-haired barbarian or handsome monk, out of sight, out of mind. But somehow his legs felt leaden, his ankles seemed twisted again, and that breath stuck in his chest, unable to rise.
The hunter seized the opportunity to strike.
Bao Zhu ran forward with quick steps and threw both arms around him from behind.
Never having faced such formidable “grappling technique,” Wei Xun found himself unable to move.
“During that most difficult, desperate journey, you were by my side protecting me. I know you can’t accompany me on the road ahead, but… but…”
Bao Zhu buried her warm face against his shoulder, sniffled, and said in a voice thin as a mosquito’s whisper: “It’s too dark to walk back to Linde Hall from here. Won’t you stay with me until dawn?”
Wei Xun felt silver light explode before his eyes, his neck tingling, his mind completely blank.
When he came to his senses, he was already rushing back into the temple carrying Bao Zhu, setting her on a table, and kissing her passionately. He struggled to grasp the last wisp of reason floating on the water’s surface, using mountain-moving, sea-filling willpower to grab her shoulders and push her back slightly, gasping:
“I need to make this clear—this has nothing to do with socks…”
Seeing her prey had fallen into the trap yet still resisting, Bao Zhu couldn’t help scolding: “Shut up! I know more than you do!” She tightly grasped the back of his neck and kissed him again.
Autumn grass, autumn moths fly; lovesick sorrow at twilight’s light. How can we meet face to face? Extinguish candles and remove silk clothes.
Shirts and skirts, blue robes, jeweled ornaments, leather belts, jade pendants and silk stockings… various garments and accessories scattered throughout the hall, tangled together.
Author’s Note:
“Like drifting thistles we part, let’s drain the cups in hand” — Li Bai’s “Seeing Off Du Erfu at East Stone Gate in Lu Commandery”
“Don’t worry about having no friends ahead—who in the world doesn’t know you?” — Gao Shi’s “Farewell to Dong Da, Two Poems”
“How can we meet face to face? Extinguish candles and remove silk clothes” — Li Bai’s “Sent to Someone Far Away”
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To deal with felines, you must grab them by the scruff of fate’s neck.