The following day, Yang Huaishen escorted Xie Yuzhang back to the Central Plains. Dielitele did not speak another word to her.
Lin Fei said, “If you are ill, take medicine. As for whether chanting spells works or not — you know perfectly well in your own heart.”
Abaha said in irritation, “Even if it is the truth, there is no need to say it so loudly!”
Lin Fei said, “Rest assured — those who can understand Central Plains speech already know it in their hearts. The ones who believe you are the ones who cannot understand a word.”
Abaha let out a few grumbling sounds and said, “You are getting on in years. Go back and hurry up and find a husband and have children.”
Lin Fei said, “It is none of your concern.”
Abaha said, “I am your teacher. You Central Plains people say: a teacher for a single day is a father for all one’s life.”
Lin Fei said, “Hmph.”
The convoy finally set off. The people who had come with Princess Zhao Xie Yuzhang as part of her bridal retinue rode in carriages and on horseback, heading south.
They looked back at the place where they had lived for eight years, watching the Mobei people who had come to see them off grow smaller and smaller in the distance — no one knew who wept first. The crying spread quickly and became a chorus, weeping and laughing at once, tears of overwhelming joy.
“It was the Flying Tiger Army that brought us here those years ago, and today it is the Flying Tiger Army that guards our return.” A scholar looked at the twin-winged flying tiger banner unfurling in the wind, and sighed through his tears. “This is Heaven’s will.”
Xun’er wept the entire time.
Her husband was a cavalryman in the princess’s guard detail, responsible for protecting the convoy’s safety. He had arranged for his wife and child to ride in the section of the caravan that he was personally responsible for guarding, so as to better look after them.
He said helplessly, “Stop crying.”
Xun’er wept. “Zijin will spend her whole life back there.”
Her husband said, “What can be done about it? The princess herself went and spoke to the Khan on her behalf, and the Khan simply refused to release her.”
When news of the southward return had been announced, the Zhao people had nearly gone wild with joy.
Yet amid such elation, there were a few households with small quiet sorrows. The men who had taken steppe women as wives could bring their wives and children along — but what of the Central Plains women who had been married off to steppe men?
In eight years of living here, there were inevitably a few families who had given their daughters in marriage to steppe men.
Parents who cherished their daughters returned the bride price and brought their daughters back — but those daughters had already borne children, and the parting of those who shared flesh and blood brought forth cries that tore the heart and split the lungs.
But there were also cold and callous parents who, having sons at home, refused to return the bride price and redeem their daughters, even as those daughters knelt outside their doors and knocked their heads against the ground until blood ran.
When Princess Baohua learned of this, she paid the money to bring those daughters back. Yuan Ling had the parents press their handprints onto the daughters’ deed of release, making those daughters henceforth belonging to the princess.
Thankfully, such families were few in number.
But when Xun’er learned of all this, she ran to the entrance of the princess’s great tent and knelt with her head to the ground, weeping and begging Xie Yuzhang to redeem Zijin.
Xie Yuzhang, moved by Xun’er’s wholehearted devotion, went to find Dielitele — only to be refused.
“She is my wife,” Dielitele said. “As long as a man of the Ashina clan still breathes, he will never hand over his wife to another.”
The status of wife, like chains, had locked Zijin to the steppe.
“Come now, stop crying. Only you have a heart so soft,” said her husband with helpless resignation. “And you added trouble for Her Highness besides.”
Xun’er was sorrowful, and also ashamed.
But just then, another cavalryman called out, “Old Wu, look — someone is chasing us!”
Everyone turned to look in the direction of the voice.
A single figure on a single horse was galloping in pursuit. The horsemanship was quite poor. Faintly, the shrill screams of a woman seemed to carry over.
Wait for me—!
Wait for me!
Wait for me, please!
Xun’er’s heart seized up in an instant!
“It is Zijin! Zijin!” She clutched the foot-high side of the large flat cart, and in a frenzy of excitement shouted aloud, “Husband! Husband, go and meet her! Husband!”
But her husband did not move. He said, “The Khan is coming after her.”
Another rider came galloping at great speed — this one’s horsemanship was extraordinary, gaining ground fast enough to close the distance in a flash, and in an instant had cut off Zijin’s path. The horse was startled and reared up on its hind legs, throwing Zijin off.
Zijin rolled across the ground several times, and before she had even come to a stop, Dielitele had already leapt from his horse and strode toward her, bringing his whip down in a savage strike!
“You married me! You are my wife!” He lashed Zijin as he spoke with cold and merciless words. “For the rest of your life, you will remain on the steppe.”
Pain that burned like fire made the mind swim with dizziness.
In a haze, Zijin seemed to drift back to the Zhaoxia Palace.
The wooden floors had been polished to a mirror-bright gleam. The railings along the covered walkways were never so much as touched by dust. The incense burned year-round had soaked its fragrance into every beam and timber of the palace.
In summer, all the latticed panels were thrown open, and the little princess could sit in the hall and watch them playing in the courtyard below.
The wind stirred the gauze curtains like wisps of smoke, and set the wind chimes swaying like a dream.
The older sisters wore the fine gossamer silk and soft-mist gauze gifted them by the princess, and as they walked along the covered walkway, their skirts rippled past like the surface of flowing water.
The elder sisters had earned the right to accompany the princess on her outings. Together they hunted, played cuju, and polo. Under the protection of the inner guard, they followed the princess through the night markets. Silk screens separated them from the common people; they had been raised more tenderly than daughters of ordinary wealthy households.
And they would always bring back little packets of snacks from the night market for the younger palace maids like herself — the small ones, who were not yet old enough to accompany the princess outside.
The little palace maid Zijin had never imagined that the rest of her life would be spent on this wild and desolate steppe.
She lifted her head. Scattered strands of hair fell across her eyes. The southbound convoy moved farther and farther away, and not a single carriage stopped for her.
She stretched out her hand toward the south. “Wait for me…”
“I want to go back to the Central Plains!”
“I want to go back to Yunjing!”
“Wait for me—!”
Her voice was shrill and desperate.
The whip cracked down on that outstretched hand like lightning — in an instant, a mass of mangled flesh and blood, burning with fierce pain.
Dielitele’s whip fell without mercy, until Zijin was lashed to the edge of unconsciousness.
He seized Zijin by one ankle and dragged her across the ground to his horse’s side, then grabbed her sash and threw her across the saddle. The violent collision between her chest and the saddle made Zijin spit up a mouthful of blood.
Draped face-down across the horse’s back, her head hanging over the side of the horse. Blood dripped down, and she could barely keep one eye open.
The world turned upside down. The southbound convoy grew smaller and smaller in the distance.
They were going back to Yunjing…
“Don’t look. Don’t look anymore.”
Her husband controlled the horse and extended one hand to turn his wife away by the shoulder. His new bride was kind-hearted and capable — just too soft-hearted.
Xun’er turned around, her face streaming with tears.
Inside the ornate carriage, Xie Yuzhang said, “I did everything I could.”
“Of course. You need not blame yourself.” Lin Fei looked off into the distance.
“She ran after us on her own. She didn’t bring either of her children with her.” Lin Fei remarked with feeling. “Does she no longer want her children? They are still so small. It is impossible to imagine — that a mother could be so heartless toward her own children.”
Lin Fei let the carriage window curtain fall and turned back, only to find Xie Yuzhang staring at her with a dazed expression in the dim interior of the carriage.
Lin Fei was mildly startled.
Xie Yuzhang had already turned her head away, and followed with a sigh. “Yes — impossible to imagine.”
Lin Fei looked at the darkness of her hair. After a moment, she called to her. “Zhuzhu.”
Xie Yuzhang made a sound of acknowledgment. She heard Lin Fei ask in a low, thoughtful voice, “Have I ever had a child?”
The hardship of these years had trained Xie Yuzhang not to betray any unusual emotion. She turned her head with a helpless look and said, “You detest steppe people to the bone. How could you possibly have borne a child for any of them? We were both secretly drinking infusions to prevent conception all along.”
Lin Fei breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “Good, then.”
Xie Yuzhang said, “Stop overthinking.”
Lin Fei made a sound of acknowledgment, then lifted the lid of the incense burner and carefully stirred the embers.
Over these past two years, as time passed and circumstances changed — and also because they had already compiled all the most important information — the “previous life” was rarely spoken of anymore.
But in that “previous life,” she had served alongside Xie Yuzhang through three men of the Ashina clan: Ashina Silifubu, Ashina Xia’erdan, and Ashina Wuwei.
Yet just now, Zhuzhu had clearly and specifically referred to only one.
Lin Fei watched the occasional sparks that flew up from the brazier and faded into the air.
By convention, from the twenty-fourth day of the twelfth month onward, the palace and all government offices were to seal their stamps and suspend official business.
Only in this particular year — the third year of the Kaiyuan reign — Mobei was still at war, the five tribes had submitted, the princess was returning to court, and affairs were so numerous that the Secretariat and the Ministry of War were running without pause. They only rested briefly during the New Year itself, and had returned to work before the Lantern Festival even arrived.
The achievements of the northern expedition were brilliant, and the New Year of the fourth year of Kaiyuan was therefore one of extraordinary celebration.
On Lantern Festival night, Li Gu ascended the tower above the palace gate and scattered small gold coins — minted in the palace — down onto the imperial avenue below, marking the joy of the occasion together with the common people.
The people laughed and scrambled to grab them, to pick them up. A gold coin scattered by the emperor’s own hand — if you were lucky enough to find one, it could be passed down as a family heirloom.
Li Gu had only come to perform this ceremony at the insistence of his ministers, but once he was truly standing on that high platform, looking out at the dazzling splendor of the lanterns lining the imperial avenue and the beaming faces of the people below — those who had seized gold coins were leaping and laughing, calling out “ten thousand years of life” — he found himself genuinely moved by the atmosphere, and a sincere smile appeared on his face.
This was a good year.
He thought to himself, and his gaze drifted toward the distance.
Soon. Very soon now.
After the Lantern Festival, all government offices resumed their duties, the shops opened their doors, people emerged from their homes, and life returned to its normal rhythms.
Yet the festive air of the New Year had not quite dispersed. Along the imperial avenue, decorated towers still stood adorned with palace lanterns.
For in two more days, she who had once been the shining jewel of Yunjing — the former Zhao dynasty’s Princess Baohua — would be coming home!
The very thought set a deep and undefinable satisfaction stirring in people’s hearts.
The Former Zhao dynasty had been corrupt and incompetent — so much so that even the empress’s own legitimate-born princess had been sent to the steppe people. What a suffocating humiliation that had been.
And yet the emperor of the Da Mu dynasty had brought that princess home!
This new dynasty was full of vitality and strength. Though the lands south of the river had not yet been brought into the realm, the north had already been pacified. The people were recovering and rebuilding; the wounds dealt to their lives during those years of chaos were slowly healing, and their vigor and vitality were welling up again in full abundance.
The entire new dynasty was thriving and flourishing.
On the eighteenth day of the first month of the fourth year of the Kaiyuan reign, Xie Yuzhang — eight years since she had left Yunjing, now in her twenty-second year — saw once again the imposing city gates of Yunjing.
“Your Highness.” The receiving official clasped his hands together, palm spread open in the direction of the city gate. “Please — “
Yang Huaishen had escorted Xie Yuzhang all the way to the northern border, then turned back to the battlefield. At the border, those sent by Li Gu to receive her were waiting.
They received her with all the ceremony due a princess.
Xie Yuzhang looked up at the great city walls, drew a long deep breath, and pressed her heels into her horse’s flanks. “Forward.”
Half a horse-length behind her was Lin Fei. Farther behind were Xie Yuzhang’s twelve handmaidens.
Not one of these women had chosen a carriage. They rode their fine horses, the rhythm of hoofbeats steady and clear, and passed through the great gates of Yunjing.
The gate passage was deep and long, and though lanterns burned along the walls, the interior was dim and murky.
The agonizing wedding night, the unbearable experiences, the despair of being cast aside — everything from the previous life condensed into a thick, clinging air, making every step Xie Yuzhang took cost tremendous effort.
Wan Xiu, Yue Xiang, Ming Qing, Suhe — the souls of those women who had died unjustly on the steppe wailed and wound themselves around her, streaming with blood and tears as they cried out against the terrors and sorrows they had suffered.
Their hands, with their long jagged nails, plunged into her chest, tore at her hair, and strained with all their might to drag her backward — back into that endless abyss.
But Xie Yuzhang gripped the reins tight, kicked her horse’s flanks with steady resolve, and drove her mount forward, one step after another. With every step, the fresh-risen remnant souls that rose from the ground were crushed beneath the hooves.
No matter how thick the walls, no matter how long the gate passage — everything has an end.
Suddenly, a blinding light struck her eyes. Xie Yuzhang closed them for an instant, then opened them.
The vast sky spread above, bright and open; sunlight blazed in full daylight; all the shadows of her previous life dissolved into ash and smoke beneath that radiance.
At the far end of the straight imperial avenue, the immense silhouette of the palace city could be dimly made out.
Countless common people lined the street on both sides, crowding together in eager anticipation. Countless eyes were fixed upon her.
She — Xie Yuzhang — had returned.