Time passes easily and leaves people behind — in the blink of an eye, three years had gone.

I lay sprawled by the window, the warm April breeze soft enough to make one feel sweetly languid, half-dissolved. A petal was blown by the wind onto my face, feather-light and tickling.

The stupor from last night’s drinking had not yet entirely faded. My body felt limp and without strength. I reached out idly and knocked over a jade wine flask; it rolled clicking down the steps and spilled its last drop of wine, adding a rich fragrant scent to the warm breeze.

The green plum wine my brother had brought from the capital half a month ago had been drunk dry by me again. The next time he found a reason to come on official business to Huizhou and visit me — who knew when that would be. I lazily propped myself up and called Jin’er’s name twice. No one answered. Since leaving the capital and coming here with me, that girl had grown more and more sluggish herself.

I got up, stepped barefoot into my silk slippers, and wandered lazily through the corridor, when I happened to glance at the magnolia tree in the courtyard — overnight it had burst into bloom, white as snow defying the frost.

I was a little dazed. I leaned against the balustrade, my thoughts drifting away, and seemed to drift back to the magnolia courtyard at home…

“The Commandery Princess is finally awake. Drunk for most of the day, and you come out without even a robe — mind you don’t catch cold again.” Jin’er grumbled in her usual way as she draped a silk outer robe over my shoulders.

I lifted my face. “The white magnolias at home must be in bloom too. I wonder how they look this year.”

“The capital is warmer than here — the flowers there should have bloomed earlier,” Jin’er said with a sigh of her own, then brightened her voice with a cheerful ring. “Though it is cooler here, we get more sunny days than in the capital — it doesn’t rain all the time. I like it better here.”

That little girl was becoming better and better at saying things to make me feel good. Seeing me press my lips together in a faint smile without answering, she gently leaned against me and spoke quietly: “If you’ve grown tired of Huizhou, perhaps we could go back to the capital and visit — it’s been three years since we left, and surely the Commandery Princess misses home?”

I drew my thoughts back and gave a self-mocking smile, stretching out languidly. “Yes, I have been missing the green plum wine at home a little. But compared to these days of ease and freedom here, I can’t quite bring myself to go back yet.”

With that I stood, brushed the fallen petals from my lapels, and said: “Such a fine spring day — let’s go out for a stroll.”

Jin’er hurried after me. “The messenger the Prince sent yesterday is still waiting for the Princess Cons— for the Princess’s reply!”

I paused. A vague shadow of irritability passed through me.

“You may reply on my behalf,” I said without looking back, and turned to go — then something occurred to me, and I added: “Oh, and see what he’s sent this time. Keep whatever looks interesting, and set the rest aside for the physicians.”

In a couple of days, Physician Xu would be arriving again. I’d need to have some extra silver prepared to show my appreciation.

My brother had told me that my mother and my aunt were frequently asking why my condition never seemed to improve, and why I could not return to the capital — and the imperial physicians were on tenterhooks about it, afraid that it could not be kept up much longer. Although there was my brother on the inside working things in my favor with my parents, those physicians had always been timid — if I didn’t keep pressing silver into their hands to seal their lips, there was always the risk my aunt would sense something was off and issue a decree summoning me back to the capital.

But if the physicians were made to describe my illness as too severe, my mother might panic and come rushing to see me — and that would be a very great inconvenience.

For these three years, I had been living in quiet, pleasant convalescence in Huizhou, enjoying a life as free as a living immortal — and all of it I owed to my good match.

On our wedding night, the Prince of Yuzhang had not set a single foot inside the bridal chamber before rushing off on campaign to suppress the rebels.

Before the three-prefecture rebellion was quelled, the northern frontier troubles arose — for a time, flames of war spread in every direction, sending the court and country into shock.

My good match shouldered the weight of the entire realm, waving his sword to subdue the south and the north. When at last the rebellion had been put down, he turned his troops without stopping and marched north.

At the time, everyone admired the Prince of Yuzhang’s merit in stabilizing the realm, and praised the Princess Consort of Yuzhang for putting the nation above herself.

My father had not only failed to reproach this fine son-in-law for departing without a farewell — he had actually submitted a memorial to the court commending him in the highest terms.

No one dared mock me for keeping a lonely vigil in an empty manor. I too remained calm as ever, entering the palace to give thanks, attending the ceremonial return to my parents’ home alone… just as they had all hoped — composed and dignified, bearing myself with all the manner of a great household.

Those gazes that had trailed behind me, those people who had waited to see me fall into grief and ruin, had presumably not gotten their wish.

I still wore my finest attire and moved through the world in splendor, filling my imperially commissioned Prince of Yuzhang’s manor with music and banqueting every night, my arrangements lavish to the last degree.

Until two months after the wedding, when a bout of cold struck me down without warning, and I fell ill, confined to my sickbed — at my worst, I nearly lost my life altogether. That night, my mother knelt all night in the shrine hall praying, weeping until her eyes were raw, and told my father that if A’Wu were to leave this world, she would carry the hatred to her grave and never forgive him or my aunt. My father could say nothing, and sat in his study through the whole night, hollow and still.

At dawn, I came back to myself. The high fever had at last broken.

Waking to see my loved ones weeping with joy and relief at my bedside, I felt only a deep, bone-deep exhaustion. I could not bear to face them, and had no more strength to endure it.

The only thing I wanted was to escape.

It happened that the rainy season was approaching, and my old coughing ailment had flared up. The imperial physicians worried that the damp, grey climate of the capital during the rainy months would not be good for my recovery.

When my uncle had served as governor of Huizhou, he had built a refined and tasteful private retreat there; it had just been completed when he was recalled to the capital, and the retreat had stood empty ever since.

Huizhou had a dry and pleasant climate, with gentle scenery — just the place for recuperating.

With a handsome sum of silver, I bought the physicians’ cooperation, then pressured my brother into persuading my parents, and so I relocated to the Huizhou retreat to convalesce.

When I first arrived, the maidservants, servants, personal guards, and medical attendants sent by my parents numbered over three hundred, crowding the small retreat to bursting and alarming the Prefect of Huizhou, who came calling in person — the noise and disturbance drove me to distraction.

I pressured the physicians into submitting a report stating that too many people and too much commotion were harmful to quiet recuperation, and firmly sent the whole lot of them back to the capital. Keeping only a handful of personal attendants and medical staff, my ears and eyes were finally at peace, with no more disturbances.

Huizhou was so far away, the world so vast — stepping back from it all by a single pace, I felt reborn, as if I had shed my old skin and been given a new life.

My uncle’s retreat here had seemingly been made just for me. Not only was the scenery pleasing and suited to my every taste, but deep in the cellar there were vintage wines stored away, the courtyard was full of lush trees and blossoming flowers, a secluded pool, birds in flight — with a tranquil beauty quite different from the ornate elegance of the capital gardens.

My parents had assumed I was merely resting my spirits and would return after a short while. Little did they imagine that the moment I arrived in Huizhou, I fell in love with the ease and freedom of this place and settled in for good, with no desire to go back. Only at the seasonal festivals, and on my parents’ birthdays, would I return to the capital for a brief stay — and after a few days I would plead illness and return early to Huizhou.

Day by day, month by month, year by year… I began to feel that I had changed.

Within me, from some hidden place, I had slowly grown cold and hard.

The girl who had once nestled happily at her parents’ knees, reluctant to leave home for even a moment, was gone; the old companions and friends had all gone their separate ways, and when we met again, there was a distance between us that had not been there before. Even Sister Wanrong had grown silent and sorrowful — like those beauties of fading fortune who haunted the palace’s inner quarters.

My parents, my aunt, my uncle — everyone who saw me was always at great pains to be gentle and protective, their eyes never quite able to conceal the guilt within.

Facing loved ones like this, I found I would have preferred it if they had scolded or lectured me the way they used to — anything was better than their current careful, walking-on-eggshells way around me.

Some things had changed. There was no going back to what had been.

Only my brother had not changed. Only he understood me. Only before him was I not the Princess Consort of Yuzhang, not Commandery Princess Shangyang — only the little A’Wu who had once followed him everywhere.

Even Zidan had long since ceased to appear in my dreams.

His period of mourning at the imperial mausoleum had come and gone, yet the Emperor had issued yet another decree commanding him to supervise the construction of the imperial mausoleum and the restoration of the ancestral temples.

Once that building project had begun, there was no knowing when it would ever end — or when he might at last return to the capital.

In those days I had not understood why the Emperor, who clearly loved Zidan, had still allowed my aunt to send him away to the imperial mausoleum.

Now I understood.

By keeping Zidan far from the palace intrigues, the Emperor was in truth being genuinely kind to him, protecting him… In that whirlpool of power, a single misstep could mean utter destruction. The Emperor could see clearly that the Wang Family and the Crown Prince had grown their wings to full span, and now had further allied themselves with Xiao Qi — forty ten-thousand-strong troops were watching from the northern frontier like crouching tigers.

To depose the Crown Prince and change the succession had become absolutely impossible.

As a father, the only thing he could do was to keep Zidan safe.

I too had no other thoughts on the matter. The fate of that life had come to its end; I was now a married woman. Only occasionally, in the dead of night, would I send a quiet wish across the distance to Zidan at the imperial mausoleum — a simple wish that he was well.

As for being a married woman — I had gone three years without knowing what my husband looked like.

Aside from that, there was little else one could fault my good match for. The Prince of Yuzhang was not only at the very pinnacle of power, commanding the weight of the realm — within the household he was generous and considerate as well. Even fighting at the frontier, he never failed to have letters sent every month, and the rare treasures the Emperor bestowed upon him were sent in a steady stream to Huizhou.

Yet his letters were always similar in content — stiff and formal, most likely written by the same adviser, simply stamped with his seal before being sent as family correspondence. I did not know whether this was meant as a proper observance of courtesy, a mutual saving of face, or whether there was some small measure of guilt in it. At first I had held some sliver of expectation, and written back to him in my own hand… But as time went on, faced with letters as formulaic as official dispatches, I could not even summon the interest to open them.

Perhaps this was what they called mutual respect between husband and wife, each keeping a courteous distance.

In our unspoken tacit understanding, we each went our own way — no need for either of us to grin and bear it and keep up pretenses. In the end, each of us found a kind of contentment. We had both gotten what we asked for.

I had arrived in early autumn; I watched the yellow leaves fall bare, then watched the snow come on winter nights, then watched the snow melt and spring return, then watched the summer shade grow thick… The years slipped past like flowing water. My inner world gradually settled — from detachment to coolness, until at last I could hold myself with composure.

This marriage, this good match — I ought to be satisfied with it.

Huizhou lay at the crossroads of north and south, a place of flowing roads and convenient waterways — it had always been a prosperous, populous region where merchants gathered. The climate here was quite different from the capital’s: not the damp, rainy warmth of summer or the dank cold of winter that the capital had.

Rather, Huizhou had four well-defined seasons, and the sky was clear and bright all year round. Since ancient times, the people of north and south had migrated and settled here in waves, living side by side — so the local character had both the frank simplicity of northerners and the gentle ingenuity of southerners. Even during years of continuous warfare, this place had rarely seen turmoil, and the people’s lives were prosperous and comfortable.

The Prefect of Huizhou, Wu Qian, was a protege personally cultivated by my father. He had been quite the celebrated talent in his time, much prized by my father, and over four years in his post had compiled a respectable record. Since I had settled in the retreat, Prefect Wu had been attentive and solicitous in his care of me, and Madam Wu also came often to pay her respects, fearing any slight displeasure on my part, always exerting herself to the utmost to attend to me.

For the couple’s attentiveness, I had no particular warmth, yet could not bring myself to refuse it.

Wu Qian had made his way on the strength of his governance record and my father’s patronage; he had a reasonably smooth official career with prospects of advancement — there was no real need for him to be so assiduous in his attentions to me. But his only daughter had reached marriageable age, having spent years in Huizhou following her parents to their post, with no opportunity to become acquainted with the sons of prominent families in the capital. Now that the time for marriage was drawing near, the Wu couple were anxious, hoping for a chance to be transferred back to the capital and find their daughter a good match before it was too late.

How immeasurable is the love of parents for their children, that they should toil and worry to such an extent.

Knowing that their attentiveness had a reason behind it, how could I bring myself to refuse them?

These past couple of days, the liveliest thing in the city was the “Thousand Kite Gathering.”

Flying paper kites in spring was a custom of the south, especially popular among the ladies of the noble families of the capital.

In previous years, every year when spring arrived, the ladies of the capital would commission skilled craftsmen to produce beautifully made kites, then invite their relatives and close friends on excursions to the countryside for picnics, feasting, kite-flying, and the appreciation of songs and poems… Huizhou had not originally had this custom, but since I arrived, Madam Wu had personally hosted it every year, gathering the ladies of all the prominent and wealthy families in the city on the ninth day of the fourth month at Qionghua Garden for the “Thousand Kite Gathering.”

One had to credit them for the thoughtfulness and ingenuity of this scheme to please me.

In previous years at home, my brother always managed to find the most skilled craftsman to make kites for me, then painted them himself with the meticulous figure paintings he excelled at, and inscribed them with poems I had composed. We would send our kites up into the sky and let them drift as they pleased, caring nothing about where they went. Someone who happened to find one would treasure it as a rare thing, and would offer a hundred taels of silver for it, and word would spread through the streets as people competed to acquire them — and people came to call them “beauty kites.”

This year, I wondered which young lady my brother would be painting a beauty kite for.

Perhaps Jin’er was right. I truly was a little homesick.

The ninth day of the fourth month. Qionghua Garden.

In the bright flourishing days of April, blossoms competed in splendor, flowers clustered in profusion, and beautiful women gathered like clouds.

The prominent families of Huizhou had all turned out — any household with any claim to standing or status had rushed to bring their ladies to this gathering.

I understood. Those young women all hoped to distinguish themselves at the Thousand Kite Gathering and win my favor, so that they might thereafter attach themselves to a great family.

In their eyes, I was an exalted and unapproachable figure of fortune — someone who with a single thought could change the course of their lives.

They yearned so desperately to have a powerful patron change their fate. And yet I deeply resented that my own fate had been determined by others.

When the pipes and strings paused and the dancing had ceased for a moment, I entered the garden with Madam Wu and a group of ladies attending me.

Everyone bowed in greeting.

All the women present were dressed in magnificent finery — jewels and silks and brocade, decked out in their utmost beauty.

Yet I myself had only put on a loose, casual water-blue cloud-patterned robe with wide sleeves, the sash hanging loosely, my hair drawn up in a low coiffure, with only a single pearl pin in my hair — not a single additional jewel anywhere on me.

When the greeting ceremony was finished, the banquet began.

To the sound of pipes and strings, a line of colorfully dressed dancing girls glided out in a row and began to dance. In the garden, the first kite rose — a crimson one splashed with gold in the shape of a butterfly, floating up gently with the breeze. It was ornate in appearance but without any particular spirit, and clearly the work of considerable effort — most likely the young Wu daughter’s handiwork.

I smiled faintly and said: “Gossamer wings, soft in the luminous air — forever busy chasing after flowers.”

“My daughter’s poor skills — we have made the Princess Consort laugh.” Madam Wu gave a slight bow, modestly disclaiming while her expression was quite pleased with herself.

From among the seated guests, a girl in yellow rose and paid her respects.

Madam Wu smiled. “My daughter Huixin — come and greet the Princess Consort.”

I nodded to indicate that the young woman should come forward.

The girl in yellow came slowly toward me with her head lowered, her figure slender and graceful, a thin gauze veil over her face swaying in the breeze, making her look all the more delicate and lovely.

In the south there was an old custom that unmarried girls must cover their faces with a gauze veil before going out in public. I had not known Huizhou observed this custom as well — for this Wu family girl to wear a veil in public must be a sign of very strict family upbringing.

I was just about to observe the girl more carefully when suddenly a sharp whistle sounded in the garden, and a vivid green swallow kite shot straight up into the air — nimble and lively, swooping and soaring exactly like a young swallow darting into the woods. Before I had time to look closely, a golden, gleaming carp kite rose up — then a celestial peach, a lotus, a jade cicada, a dragonfly… All at once, kites of every kind were soaring and tumbling overhead in a dazzling array of brilliant colors, filling the sky with spectacle, leaving one’s eyes no time to catch it all.

The guests below turned their faces up and looked, exclaiming in admiration.

The Wu daughter moved with a gentle, swaying grace, step by step advancing toward my seat, and sank into a graceful bow.

“What a pretty girl,” I remarked, turning with a smile toward Madam Wu — and then noticed that her expression had gone very strange; she was staring fixedly at the girl before her.

Without warning, a second sharp, urgent whistle split the air.

I startled and looked up. Suddenly, to the southeast beyond the garden walls, a great shadow swept across the sky.

In the rushing wind, an enormous pale green kite soared upward — shaped like a hawk in full wingspan, its wings spanning nearly three lengths on each side. It swept in vast, sweeping arcs over the garden, hurtling straight toward the seat where I was positioned.

I sprang to my feet and stumbled backward.

Before my eyes, a flash of yellow — and the Wu daughter suddenly moved with startling speed. She reached out and seized both my shoulders in a grip so fierce her five fingers dug into the flesh, the pain cutting through muscle and bone.

“You are not Huixin—” In the midst of Madam Wu’s shriek, the young woman closed the distance, and drove the edge of her palm toward my neck in a swift, cutting blow.

At the same moment, that enormous kite swept down on me, carrying a great billowing darkness with it.

Blackness pressed down from every side.

A searing pain at my neck. Everything before my eyes went dark. In the last clear fragment of my consciousness, I was only dimly aware that my shoulders were seized in a vice-like grip, my body lifted into the air, the sound of violent rushing wind filling my ears…

Note: The verse quoted in the text is borrowed from Ouyang Xiu, with minor adaptation.