Five days after my birthday, my brother took me to watch the military review and welcome ceremony.
Father often said that the daughters of our Wang Family far surpassed most ordinary men.
Yet that world of iron and blood, of war and metal, ultimately belonged to men — it was far too remote from the realm of women. For the daughters of noble and imperial lineage, a lifetime need only be spent sheltered beneath the protection of one’s father, brother, and husband. Battles and campaigns were, to us, nothing more than a distant legend. I had no great interest in attending the ceremony, yet I could not suppress my curiosity.
Mother always said that a young woman’s excessive curiosity was no virtue — but I had such a great deal of it.
Legendary people, legendary things — they were especially mysterious and alluring.
What sparked my curiosity was one particular person.
This person’s name I had heard far too many times. Some said he was a god; others said he was a demon.
Every time my aunt, my father, and my brother mentioned this person’s name, their voices grew heavy.
Even Zidan, with a complexity I could not comprehend, had once mentioned this name.
He said: Heaven has sent this man — it is a blessing for the nation and the family, but it may well be a calamity for all living beings.
Over a month before, a report of victory had arrived: our dynasty’s southern campaign had triumphed brilliantly.
In only nine months, the great army had mounted a distant expedition against the barbarian tribes of the southern frontier, breaking through one obstacle after another. All twenty-seven tribal chieftains of the southern frontier had submitted. Our national territory expanded southward by more than six hundred miles, and the might and prestige of our empire shook the four quarters. The path of retreat for the Shu rebels to the south was cut off, filling those bandits with such dread and alarm that they withdrew behind Jianmen Pass and dared not emerge.
When the victory report arrived, the court and the entire country were filled with jubilation. Only my father seemed to have anticipated the result all along — he merely gave a faint smile; amid the satisfaction, there was the shadow of a worry. I did not understand what he was worried about.
A few days later, the great army was about to march in triumph back to the capital.
The Emperor commanded the Crown Prince to lead the civil and military officials out of the city to welcome them and bestow rewards upon the three armies.
The blood of the southern barbarians had washed the general’s armor bright; the general’s sword had swept across the borderlands and now gleamed once more upon the capital. This was the only enfeoffed prince of a different surname outside the imperial family — the General Who Subdues the Nation, decorated with brilliant military achievements, who commanded a million soldiers: the Prince of Yuzhang.
He was the very person the world spoke of as if he were half god, half demon — the Prince of Yuzhang, Xiao Qi.
From the palace to the marketplace, there was no one who did not know the great and terrible name of the Prince of Yuzhang.
— Born a commoner in Huzhou, he enlisted in the army at sixteen. By eighteen he had risen to the rank of adjutant, joining the forces under General Jingyuan and marching north to fight the Turks. In the Battle of the Shuo River, commanding a force of only a hundred iron cavalrymen, he devised a brilliant strategy, made a surprise raid on the enemy’s rear, and burned all their grain and supply wagons. In single combat he killed more than a hundred of the enemy, piling their bodies into a mountain, and yet survived despite sustaining twenty-one grave wounds. The Turkish army, dealt this devastating blow and then struck head-on by the main forces, fell back in a rout of a thousand miles. Not only were the two prefectures of Shuo and He, long occupied by the Turks, recovered — but six hundred miles of fertile land north of the Shuo River were captured as well.
Xiao Qi made his name in this single battle, leaping from a minor adjutant to the rank of vanguard deputy general, winning the deep trust and regard of General Jingyuan. During three years of holding the frontier, he repelled more than a hundred Turkish incursions, killed thirty-two Turkish generals in the field, including the beloved son of the Turkish chieftain — who perished at Xiao Qi’s hand — leaving the Turks gravely weakened. His fame and might spread to the farthest reaches of the northern desert, and he was granted the title General Who Pacifies the North. The people called him “the Heavenly General.”
In the fourth year of Yongxi, the Military Commissioner of Southern Dian stockpiled troops and declared independence, colluding with the White Rong tribes and crowning himself king. General Who Pacifies the North, Xiao Qi, was dispatched on an imperial mandate to campaign west. Holding the enemy’s vanguard at the Langrang Pass on one flank, he took a long detour through Guizhou, forcing open a plank road through towering mountain ranges, and struck directly at the rebel heartland with total surprise. Along the way he encountered Yi and Di tribesmen who had aligned with the rebels to resist the imperial army. Unable to bring them to submission through persuasion, Xiao Qi in a fury slaughtered his way through their settlements, exterminating the tribal groups, then pressed forward and crushed the White Rong, recovering Southern Dian and publicly beheading all thirteen rebel leaders. He pursued the enemy’s retreating forces, and over the course of two years pacified the entire southwestern frontier, amassing brilliant merit to command a million soldiers, and was appointed General Who Subdues the Nation.
In the seventh year of Yongxi, the southern frontier barbarians invaded the border. The Prince of Yuzhang, who had only just pacified the southwest, led his army south once more. He fought bitterly against the enemy in a southern borderland ravaged by floods and plague, and when floodwaters destroyed the roads and supply lines from the rear were cut off, repeatedly finding himself in desperate straits — Xiao Qi made a decisive judgment in the field, forcing a crossing of the Lancang River with a do-or-die resolve, and drove the southern barbarians back eight hundred miles, leaving them incapable of mounting any further northern incursion.
That same year, Xiao Qi’s unparalleled merit earned him the enfeoffment of Prince of Yuzhang — becoming the only prince of a different surname in the entire dynasty, outside the imperial family.
In the eighth year of Yongxi, after the Prince of Yuzhang’s army had rested for half a year in central Dian, they marched south again, this time prepared and ready, and struck the southern barbarians into a total rout. In only nine months, all twenty-seven tribal chieftains of the southern frontier submitted.
Over a full ten years, the Prince of Yuzhang led his forces in campaigns across every quarter, turning the tide and supporting the state through every crisis — without question the court’s most indispensable pillar, the mainstay of the nation and the family.
For this triumphant return of the great army, the court and the country were filled with excitement. The Emperor had originally intended to ride out of the city in person to welcome them, but had been suffering from prolonged illness and was forced instead to send the Crown Prince to lead the civil and military officials in welcoming him, representing the Son of Heaven in bestowing honors upon the three armies.
Time and again I had listened to my father and brother speak of the battles at the front; time and again I had been shaken by those breathtaking accounts.
The three characters “Prince of Yuzhang” were like an incantation, always conjuring in my mind images of carnage, victory, and death.
Now that I was finally to see with my own eyes this person who, in legend, was half god and half demon — finally to look for myself upon that reportedly invincible army — I could not say why, but an inexplicable dread rose within me.
The full ten-thousand-strong army could not all enter the city. The Prince of Yuzhang brought only three thousand iron cavalrymen — and even so, this was enough to shake the entire capital.
Hundreds upon hundreds of common people pressed together on both sides of the road leading into the city, packed so tightly there was no room left. Every tower and loft with any view of the city gate had been filled long before. Yet my brother had reserved the entire upper floor of the Yaoguang Pavilion — the tallest building near Chengtian Gate — early in the morning, so that I could look down from above and see clearly the spectacle of the great army entering the city.
Down the center of the processional road, red carpet was laid. On both sides, rows of imperial guardsmen in gleaming armor stood at attention. The imperial yellow canopies, feathered fans, and jeweled banners stretched tier upon tier toward the high platform at the far end of the road.
At midday, rites and music rang out together. After three beats of the great drum, the Crown Prince, robed in pale brownish-yellow court dress, ascended the high platform amid a throng of civil and military officials.
Viewed from a distance, every face was blurred and indistinct — one could only guess by the color of their robes. The figure standing to the Crown Prince’s left, robed in vermillion court dress, must certainly be my father. I tugged at my brother’s sleeve and put on my most playful, wheedling tone: “My dear noble lord — when will you too stand there at the head of the civil and military officials, decked in embroidered court robes, and make your grand impression upon the world?”
My brother glared at me. “You little wretch — since when did you start making cutting remarks?”
I turned to look at him with a smile, just about to tease him, when a low, deep, and solemnly resounding horn call sounded. The city gate slowly swung open.
It was as though the entire capital fell into hushed reverence in that very instant.
The blazing midday sunlight dimmed abruptly; the air seemed to suddenly grow chill.
In that moment, I felt as though I beheld before me a boundless tide of black iron surging forward, flickering with the cold gleam of metal beneath the sun.
A great black battle flag with gold edging was thrust high, snapping and billowing in the wind — and upon it, unmistakably, the character “Xiao” slashed in bold silver strokes.
Iron cavalry in black helms and armor were arrayed in nine columns, standing in grave and solemn formation. At the very head rode a single man, clad in full heavy armor with a sword at his hip, a plume of white feathers on his helm, seated upon a fully armored war horse as black as ink, his posture straight and rigid as a blade. He rode at the fore, reins in hand, urging his mount forward; behind him the nine columns of iron cavalry followed in order, their movements perfectly unified — with every footfall of their boots, the sound rang through both sides of Chaoyang Gate.
When the music and rites fell silent, the general with the black horse and white plume drew on the reins and halted. With a slight raise of his right hand, the officers behind him came to an immediate stop — the decisiveness of that command and response was absolute.
The man rode forward alone, halting his horse ten lengths from the high platform, dismounted, unstrapped his sword, handed it to the ceremonial officer, and slowly ascended the high platform step by step.
My brother’s voice came from behind me — strained, with a roughness to it. “That is Xiao Qi.”
That person was so far from us — so far that his face was impossible to make out — and yet merely gazing at him from this distance was enough to make me feel a crushing pressure, as though I could not breathe.
He came to a stop three paces before the Crown Prince, lowered his head slightly, and knelt to one side on one knee.
The Crown Prince unrolled the yellow silk and read aloud the imperial edict of commendation and bestowal.
We were too far away to hear the Crown Prince’s words clearly, but we could see that suit of deep black iron armor, the snow-white helmet plume blazing and glittering with cold brilliance in the full midday sun.
When the Crown Prince finished reading the edict, Xiao Qi received the yellow silk document with both hands, rose, turned to face the massed officers below the platform, and stood towering and still. He raised the edict aloft with both hands.
— Long live our Emperor!
This voice — so commanding, so vigorous — reached us even at our distant pavilion, carrying over the space between.
In an instant, the surging tide of three thousand black-armored cavalry all at once let forth a thunderous triple cry of “Long live!” that shook the earth and rattled the roof tiles, reverberating through the entire capital within and without.
Everything was swallowed up in that surging, mighty sound. Even the magnificent imperial ceremonial guard fell into eclipse.
To the left and right stood the Emperor’s personal guards, all golden helms and bright armor, blades and swords gleaming — yet these three thousand iron cavalrymen, who had not even yet washed the frost and battle-dust from their armor, utterly overwhelmed the imperial guards’ imposing presence. Beside them, the guards who normally commanded such splendor were reduced to painted puppets on a stage — outwardly showy, but utterly without substance.
These were warriors who had come back from ten thousand miles away, their blades still wet.
That sword was a sword that had killed enemies. That blade was a blade that had killed enemies. Those men were men who had killed enemies.
That killing spirit — only those who had bathed in blood on the frontier, who had fought through a hundred battles, who had faced death with equanimity — only they could possess such a fierce and contained killing spirit as this.
That man who in rumor seemed to have walked out of the blood-pool of Asura now stood before the assembled multitude, ascending the high platform, looking down upon all living creatures — terrible as a god descended from Heaven.
A tightening in my chest — and then I realized with a start that I had forgotten to breathe, and that my palms were damp with sweat.
I had never known that such a person could exist in this world.
I had been accustomed to the imperial majesty all my life. Even before the Emperor himself, I had never felt even a trace of awe.
Yet now, at a distance of several dozen lengths, I did not dare look directly at that person.
There was a burning, fierce light that radiated from him — and in that invisible force, there was no place to hide.
My brother too was uncharacteristically quiet. He had not spoken a single word, gazing in silence at the scene before him — yet the teacup in his hand was gripped so tightly that his knuckles had turned faintly white.
I pressed my lips together. An inexplicable feeling stirred within me — something between wistfulness and exhilaration — a feeling I had never experienced before.
After the ceremony concluded, I boarded the carriage to return home, dazed and silent the entire journey.
The carriage stopped before the manor gate. The attendant lifted the curtain — but my brother, who would normally have been standing before the carriage with his hand extended to help me down, was nowhere to be seen.
Puzzled, I leaned forward to look, and found my brother sitting upright on horseback, a bright purple-and-pearl bridle in his hands, stroking his white horse in absent, contemplative thought.
“My noble lord — we’ve arrived at the manor!” I walked to the front of his horse and gave a little curtsy, mimicking an attendant’s bow with a smile.
My brother came back to himself, gave me a sidelong glance, then let out a sigh, tossed his white jade-and-silver riding whip to his attendant, and swung down from the horse.
We had barely stepped into the courtyard when my mother appeared ahead, resplendent in formal court attire with her hair piled high, accompanied by Elder Sister Xu and her ladies, walking toward us as if on her way out.
“Is Mother going out?” I smiled and took her arm.
“The Empress has summoned me. You haven’t paid your respects to your aunt in two days either — come along with me.” My mother smoothed a loose strand of hair at my temple and looked over at my brother with a gentle smile. “How was the welcome ceremony? Was it interesting?”
I looked down with a smile. Mother always treated us like children, as if my brother still loved to watch lively spectacles the way he had as a child.
“The Prince of Yuzhang’s troops were magnificent and his bearing exceptional,” my brother said, not smiling, looking at our mother with solemn feeling in his voice. “Your son is ashamed — today I have seen for the first time what a true man ought to be!”
My mother was startled, and her delicate brows drew together. “Child, you’re talking nonsense again. What is good about the way warriors kill and fight?”
My brother said nothing more. Though he often argued with our father, before our mother he had never uttered a single word of contradiction.
“What sort of standing do you have? How can you compare yourself to a man of low birth?” My mother’s voice remained soft, yet her expression grew subtly stern.
She had always disliked men of the common-born military faction. Hearing this from my brother, she could not help but feel displeasure.
Seeing that my mother was unhappy, I quickly said with a smile: “Brother was only joking — Mother, pay him no mind. Come, let’s go — Aunt must already be wondering what’s keeping us!”
Without giving anyone time to respond, I took my mother’s arm and swept her forward, glancing back over my shoulder to wink at my brother.
When we arrived, my aunt drew my mother into the inner chamber for a private conversation, and refused to let me enter.
I had no patience to wait for them, and went straight to the Eastern Palace to find Sister Wanrong.
I gave Sister Wanrong and her ladies a vivid, detailed account of seeing Xiao Qi with my own eyes, leaving them all open-mouthed with astonishment.
“I’ve heard that the Prince of Yuzhang has killed tens of thousands,” said Side Consort Wei, pressing her hand to her heart, her expression filled with distaste and alarm. The woman beside her picked up the thread: “Tens of thousands — that’s surely a low count. No one could number them all. I’ve also heard he drinks human blood!”
I was inwardly skeptical and rather dismissive of this, and was just about to refute it when I heard Sister Wanrong shake her head: “How can marketplace gossip be trusted? If it were true, wouldn’t that make him a monster?”
Consort Wei sneered: “He who kills too heavily violates the way of benevolence and virtue. With hands soaked in blood — what difference is there between him and a monster?”
I disliked this Consort Wei — she relied on the Crown Prince’s favor to act arrogantly and impudently before Sister Wanrong. I turned a cool, contemptuous gaze upon her at once: “What do you mean by the way of benevolence and virtue? With flames of war rising on all sides, do you imagine that a single word of ‘benevolence’ is enough to resist wolves and tigers — that foreign enemies will meekly lay down their arms?”
Consort Wei’s powdered face flushed red. “By the Commandery Princess’s lofty reasoning, would killing and slaughter constitute the way of benevolence and virtue?”
I raised a brow and smiled: “Once war has begun, what place is there for benevolence? Even where killing has occurred, the Prince of Yuzhang acts for the nation and the people. He is the pillar of the state, his achievements a service to the dynasty. How can one slander a meritorious general in this way? If it were not for the general’s blood shed at the frontier, how could you and I sit here in peace and comfort?”
“Well said.”
My aunt’s poised, tranquil voice suddenly rang out from beyond the hall doors.
Everyone rose quickly to pay their respects.
Sister Wanrong stepped to one side to receive my aunt and usher her into the hall.
My aunt had brought only two palace attendants, and there was no sign of my mother. I was peering toward the door, when my aunt said in a level tone: “No need to look. This palace has already asked the Grand Princess to return to her manor ahead of us.”
I looked at my aunt in bewilderment, thoroughly at a loss.
My aunt took the seat of honor, swept a glance over the women assembled before her, her expression revealing neither pleasure nor displeasure. “What has the Crown Princess been busy with?”
Sister Wanrong bowed her head and lowered her gaze. “In reply to Her Majesty — this subject-wife was chatting and drinking tea with the Commandery Princess.”
My aunt smiled — yet there was not a trace of warmth in her eyes. “And what interesting things were you discussing? Tell me as well.”
“This subject-wife and the others were listening to the Commandery Princess…” Sister Wanrong, guileless and without artifice, was answering truthfully — I quickly cut her off: “They were listening to me comment on this year’s new tea. Aunt, taste this freshly tributed silver needle tea — the quality is even finer than in previous years!”
I took the teacup from the attendant’s hands and presented it to my aunt personally, drawing close to her side.
My aunt raised a brow and shot me a look, then turned her gaze to Sister Wanrong. “Allowing the ladies of the household to gossip about court ministers — is this the Eastern Palace’s way of doing things?”
“This subject-wife is at fault!” Sister Wanrong’s color drained from her face; she immediately knelt. Behind her, all the other ladies scrambled to kneel as well.
“This matter is the result of A’Wu speaking out of turn — the fault is A’Wu’s. Please punish me, Aunt.” I made to kneel as well — but my aunt waved me off with her hand.
I seized the opportunity and took hold of my aunt’s hand, gazing up at her through glistening tears. “Aunt…”
My aunt met my gaze and seemed to start slightly; her expression shifted in a way I could not quite read. She turned her head away and would not look at me anymore.
“That will do. All of you withdraw. Crown Princess — from now on, keep a stricter hand, and see that this does not happen again.” My aunt’s expression was somber.
Sister Wanrong led all the ladies in bowing their farewell and withdrew. The hall fell silent, leaving only my aunt and me facing each other.
“Is Aunt angry with A’Wu…” I looked at my aunt timidly.
My aunt said nothing, only looked steadily at me. That strange expression of hers made me genuinely uneasy.
“I keep thinking of you as a child — and without realizing it, you’ve grown into such exceptional beauty.” A strained smile tugged at the corner of my aunt’s lips; her voice was gentle. The words were plainly words of praise, yet hearing them, I felt an inexplicable anxiety.
Before I could reply, my aunt gave another little smile. “Has Zidan sent any letters lately?”
At the mere mention of Zidan’s name, heat rushed to my face and my heart fluttered with unease. I only shook my head vaguely and dared not tell my aunt the truth.
My aunt gazed at me steadily, her expression deep, as if lost in some distant, wistful reverie. “A young girl’s tender feelings — Aunt understands them. Zidan is a fine young man, only… A’Wu…” She paused and seemed about to say something, then stopped herself; for a moment, a look of profound sadness crossed her face, and she closed her eyes and fell silent.
Over the years, my aunt had scolded me harshly more times than I could count — yet not once had any of those occasions made me feel as frightened as I did in this moment.
I had never seen my aunt speak to me with such an expression before. A vague and ominous foreboding pressed down on my heart.
I bit hard on my lip, and desperately wanted to turn and flee — I did not want to hear what she was going to say.
Yet my aunt suddenly spoke: “All your life, from the time you were small — has anyone ever made you suffer, ever given you cause to feel resentment?”
I was taken aback. If one were to speak of suffering and resentment — who in this palace or outside it could make me suffer, what could give me cause to resent? Naturally the only answer was Zidan’s departure — yet that answer was one I could never speak aloud to my aunt.
“I don’t think so… does it count if my brother bullied me?” I managed to smile, and looked toward my aunt with a deliberately carefree expression.
My aunt’s smile faded. Her gaze became deep and complex — within the tenderness and affection, there was also a faint undercurrent of pain. “You have grown up all this way, and I am afraid you may not yet know what real suffering actually is.”
I stared at my aunt, unable to speak.
My aunt lowered her gaze and smiled — a bleak, cheerless smile. “When I was young, I was just like you — without a care in the world, cherished and sheltered by those who loved me… And yet there comes a day, inevitably, when we must bear our own fate, and we cannot remain forever under the protection of our family’s wings.”
Meeting my aunt’s searching gaze, I stood dumb and wordless, my heart gripping tighter and tighter with each passing moment.
My aunt looked directly into my eyes; her voice went cold. “If one day you were asked to endure great suffering — to give up the things you hold most dear, to do something you were utterly unwilling to do, even at a tremendous cost — A’Wu, would you be willing?”
My heart lurched; my fingertips went cold. A thousand thoughts flashed through my mind, yet my head was one tangled mass of confusion.
“Answer me.” My aunt would not allow me to hesitate.
I bit my lip, and raised my eyes to meet hers. “That would depend on what it is for — and whether it matters more than what I hold most dear.”
My aunt’s gaze was deep and cold as still water. “The things different people hold most dear are not the same. What is most important? And what is most worth it?”
Her eyes rested upon me for a long moment, seeming to pass through me and travel toward some distant past. “I too have had something I held most dear — something that was once the greatest joy and the deepest sorrow of my life… Yet that joy and sorrow were mine and mine alone. When weighed against something else — something deeper, heavier, something I cannot escape or surrender — that something else is the glory and responsibility of family.”
“The glory and responsibility of family…” It was as if a great hammer had struck me suddenly — my mind reeled, turbulent and shaken.
In my aunt’s eyes there was the glimmer of restrained tears — yet she was resolute and unwavering.
“When that war had only just ended, and factions in the court were arrayed against each other on all sides, the four great noble clans refusing to yield to one another — my elder brother, acclaimed as the greatest talent of his generation, secured the marriage of Grand Princess Jinmin into the Wang Family, bringing the family supreme glory. My younger sister was betrothed to the Prince of Qingyang, who commanded the military power of the army. And I — I had to become the Crown Princess, and in time mistress of all six palaces, in order to ensure the Wang Family’s authority at court, to outweigh the ever-pressing Xie family, to make the Wang Family’s position as unshakeable as a mountain, and allow our clanspeople to enjoy splendor and prosperity.”
I had never known that behind the celebrated romance of my parents’ union, behind my aunt’s sovereignty over the realm, lay a suffering so deep and unspoken.
In that instant, everything before my eyes seemed to darken. The world that had seemed to me a paradise of jade and flowers suddenly shed its color, revealing the dull gray beneath.
For fifteen years, the flawless, crystalline paradise in my heart cracked for the first time.
I dared not hear any more. I dared not think any further.
But once a crystal has its first crack, it will keep splitting along the fault line — until it shatters completely.
My aunt rose and moved toward me, her eyes fixed on mine, her voice falling with iron weight:
“From the day we were born, we were enveloped in radiance, each of us raised in glory. There is no one under heaven more honored than a princess — except for us, the daughters of the Wang Family. When you are in the midst of it, perhaps you do not perceive it at all. Since I entered the palace at eighteen, I have witnessed how many sorrows and trials, how many rises and falls of fortune. Do you know what it means for a woman of humble origin with no family to support her, within this palace? Her life is worth less than an ant’s. Let a family fall from power and favor — no matter how glorious it once was, its ruin is worse even than that of a commoner household…”
My aunt gripped my shoulders, speaking word by deliberate word: “The identity, the beauty, the talent we take pride in — every part of it is the gift of our family. Without this family, I — or you — or any of our descendants — would have nothing. We enjoy this glory; therefore we must bear the same weight of responsibility.”