Chapter 1: Caught Between Two Choices

The matter of the peace marriage was finally settled.

Yet an unexpected piece of joyous news suddenly emerged from the palace — Empress Hu was with child. When the female official of the central palace, Zhen Shi, arrived at the residence to deliver the glad tidings, I was in the middle of painting a ink bamboo. Upon hearing this, I startled and let a large blot of ink drop onto the paper. I stood frozen, turning around, and knocked over the brocade vase at the side of the table. A’Yue hurried forward to steady me, but I waved my sleeve to dismiss her and returned to sit silently before the table alone. For a moment, a hundred thoughts swirled through my mind — a tangle of astonishment, joy, and yet deep unease.

The daily lives of the Emperor and Empress were entirely managed by the female officials of the central palace. I knew that medicine had been administered in Empress Hu’s food and drink each day to prevent her from conceiving. Zidan had yet to formally install any other consorts, and with Empress Hu bearing no heirs, the imperial bloodline would come to an end. But this was an unavoidable matter. Xiao Qi would never permit a new claimant to the throne to exist; even if one did, he would have them eliminated. Unless Zidan abdicated, he could not have children of his own. And his abdication was only a matter of time — both Hu Yao and he were still young, and after abdication there would still be much time and opportunity ahead of them. And yet, whatever error had occurred — whether by human hand or by accident — Hu Yao was with child at this very moment.

Could this, too, be Heaven’s will? I did not know whether to feel joy or dread.

Since Zidan’s wedding, his relationship with Hu Yao could not be called discord. All proper courtesies were observed, and in the eyes of others they appeared as a harmonious couple. I had also hoped he would find a worthy companion and cherish the person before him. Yet even with such respectful devotion between them, there remained an unresolved ache in my heart. I had once thought that if they could live their lives together with mutual regard, perhaps that would be enough. But now Heaven had chosen this very moment to grant them a child — Zidan’s own flesh and blood. Was this not the greatest comfort that could be given to Zidan? A child can restore hope to a lonely woman, and perhaps give strength to a fragile man, turning him into a steadfast father.

Yet whether this child’s arrival was sorrow or fortune, I did not dare contemplate too deeply.

Once my composure was restored, my heart remained suspended with anxiety. I asked in a calm, low voice, “Does His Highness the Prince already know?”

Zhen Shi lowered her head, “The inner court has already reported it to His Highness.”

My heart lurched. I deliberated and said, “Who was the imperial physician responsible for attending to the Empress on a regular basis? Has there been any change?”

“In reply to the Princess Consort, Physician Liu has ordinarily been attending the Empress. Today, Physician Liu reported ill, and Physician Lin has taken over.”

Zhen Shi’s words made my heart plummet all at once.

The entire day passed without Xiao Qi returning to the residence. Deep into the night, approaching midnight, he quietly stepped into the room. I was not yet asleep, merely lying with my eyes closed, facing inward, feigning ignorance of his arrival. The serving maids had all withdrawn, and he undressed himself with careful, gentle movements, afraid of disturbing my sleep. I turned onto my side, faintly furrowing my brow, sensing him lean over to look at me, softly patting my back. The warmth of his palm held nothing but comfort and tender care.

I opened my eyes and gazed up at him with a soft look. The calm smile in his eyes showed not a trace of his usual sharp, cold expression — he seemed like nothing more than an ordinary husband and father.

Yet at this very moment, the lives of another mother and child were held in his hands, their fortune or doom resting upon a single thought of his.

He whispered in my ear, “Sleep.”

“I just dreamed of Empress Hu,” I said, looking into the depths of his dark eyes. “She was holding a small child, weeping without end.”

Xiao Qi fixed his gaze on me, a flash of sharpness crossing the depths of his eyes, the corners of his lips curling into a faint smile. “Is that so? And why was that?”

“I don’t understand.” I met his gaze directly. “She is honored as Empress, and now she carries an imperial heir — why should she weep for no reason?”

“Since it was only a dream, how can it be taken seriously?” He smiled, lifting my face. “Those little thoughts of yours grow more and more numerous.”

I looked at him deeply. “My little thoughts — I have told all of them to you. Yet your thoughts, you have never shared with me.”

He withdrew his smile, his gaze growing gradually cold. “What you want to know — do you not already guess it, without my saying so?”

The hidden sting in those words pierced through, a dull and quiet pain. I stared at him, speechless, as a thick bitterness seemed to rise in my throat. By saying this, he was acknowledging that he would not allow Hu Yao to give birth to Zidan’s child — that he would not permit the imperial family to have an heir. And yet I could not find a single word of protest or persuasion, because he had not truly done wrong. To be ruthless for a moment is to prevent endless trouble — every founder of a dynasty had come to power by stepping over the bones of the previous imperial family.

Yet this was Zidan — and Zidan’s wife and child were my own kin.

“Perhaps it will be a little princess,” I said, my struggle feeling feeble even to myself. “The imperial house has already been hollowed out by now. Leaving such a child — what harm could it possibly do? If it is a girl, it is not impossible to let her live.” Xiao Qi’s face darkened as he fixed his gaze on me, his expression showing something close to pity. “True enough — a girl may be spared. But what if it is a boy?”

I stiffened, and after a long pause managed to speak with difficulty, “At least — half a chance at life.”

Watching my body tremble uncontrollably, Xiao Qi finally let out a sigh, unwilling to press me further. “Very well. According to your half-chance at life, let us wait these ten months — spare the girl, not the boy.”

The next morning, I entered the palace to offer Hu Yao my congratulations, only to find Zidan in the inner chambers of the central palace.

As I stepped into the hall, I saw Zidan gently handing a dish of plum fruits to his Empress. Hu Yao was leaning against his side, a faint blush on her cheeks, warmth and a smile reaching her eyes. For a fleeting moment, my heart gave a slight pull — that look in his eyes, so familiar, so tender as in days gone by. He turned and saw me; his gaze paused, and the hand reaching out froze in midair.

“Your subject-consort pays respects to His Majesty and Her Majesty the Empress.” I lowered my head and eyes, bowing and kneeling before them.

“Rise.” The bright yellow hem of his robe passed before my eyes as he stepped forward to help me to my feet. His hands were still so pale and slender.

I quietly drew back and stepped aside, then turned toward Empress Hu and smiled my congratulations. As they watched me and Hu Yao exchange pleasant conversation, Zidan sat quietly to one side, a particularly gentle smile upon his face, yet not uttering a single word. Before long, the imperial physician entered to take the Empress’s pulse. I rose to take my leave, and then heard Zidan say as well, “We still have matters to attend to, and will come to visit our beloved consort later.” Empress Hu’s gaze dimmed, but she said nothing further, merely inclining her body to see him off.

All along the way out of Chaoyang Palace, to the gates, Zidan had walked silently and slowly ahead. The imperial carriage was already waiting ahead, and I gave a light bow. “Your subject-consort takes her leave.”

Zidan remained silent, not turning around. As I passed by his side, in that instant of brushing past him, my arm suddenly tightened — he had seized it with a firm grip. The unexpected force nearly sent me off-balance.

In an instant, I jolted like a mother animal protecting her young, fearing that my child was in danger. Without thinking, I reached for the short blade concealed beneath my sleeve!

Yet the moment my fingertips touched the cold hilt, I had already recognized who stood before me — it was Zidan.

I froze and stared at him blankly, seeing him fix his eyes on the hand I had pressed to the blade. In the depths of his gaze was a look of stricken anguish.

I opened my mouth, but no words came — I knew I had deeply wounded him, yet I did not know where to begin explaining. Even I myself did not know whether, in that one fleeting moment, it had been a mother’s instinct that had caused me to lose composure — or whether even Zidan had ceased to be someone I could trust with my whole heart.

Our eyes met, for only the briefest of moments, yet it seemed an eternity.

“I only wanted to congratulate you.” Zidan gave a wan smile and slowly released his grip.

Spring faded into dusk, and summer shade grew thick.

One afternoon, having just risen from a short nap, I felt listless and drained throughout my body. Sitting before the mirror to re-arrange my hair, I noticed an unusual flush of crimson on both cheeks that only made the pallor of my lips more pronounced. These days my energy had gradually grown worse than before, and I tired more easily than ever.

During this period, memorials piled in like snowflakes every day, all of them entreating Xiao Qi to return to court and take charge of governance. The memorials were delivered directly to the residence, filling the study, and servants had to clear them away each day.

Xiao Qi had long been biding his time, lying low in the Prince’s residence. That was nearing its end now. Once the transition of officials in the northern frontier was complete and the great matter of rectifying the military’s accumulated ills was settled, there would be nothing and no one left who could hinder his advance.

The great cause was nearly accomplished. What an upheaval of Heaven and earth was about to follow.

After that day, Zidan had someone deliver a brocade box to me. Inside it was a piece of silk painting, already yellowed with age, depicting in faint strokes the side profile of a graceful young man — like something glimpsed in a dream.

The brushstrokes were mine. Long ago, I had secretly sketched his likeness on silk as he sat reading, not daring to let anyone see it, hiding it with the utmost care — only for him to find it in the end. Delighted, he had begged and pleaded to have the painting, but I had refused every time. Until the day he left the capital to observe mourning at the imperial mausoleum — only then had I sealed the painting in the brocade box and sent it to him as a parting gift. Now, the box and the painting were both returned to me. I sat for a long while in melancholy, and in the end consigned them both to the flames.

The ceremonial officials submitted a memorial: the palace’s annual archery ceremony was approaching, and they requested Prince Yuzhang to preside over the rites.

The present dynasty valued civil arts over military ones, and archery and horsemanship were studied only as a ceremonial accomplishment for young men of high-ranking families. Year after year, the archery ceremony had been nothing more than a seasonal amusement. But since Xiao Qi took charge of government, a martial spirit had surged throughout the court, with officials and nobles all enthusiastically taken up with archery and riding — and among all such occasions, the archery ceremony was foremost in grandeur. This year was even more exceptional than past years: the ceremonial officials, wishing to celebrate both the Emperor’s and Prince Yuzhang’s expected heirs within the splendor of the ceremony, had deliberately arranged it to be an occasion of utmost magnificence. Though protocol set no restriction, in every previous year the Emperor had personally presided over the ceremony. This memorial from the ceremonial officials sent shockwaves through the entire court, and no one dared raise a word of objection.

Zidan approved the ceremonial officials’ memorial and commanded Xiao Qi to preside over the archery ceremony.

The imperial parade grounds were arrayed with pennants and brocade.

Empress Hu presided over the assembled honored ladies in attendance, and my seat was beside her phoenix throne. After the assembled guests had performed the customary rites, I gave a slight bow. Our eyes met; Hu Yao smiled faintly, a trace of gloom hovering between her brows.

With nothing to say to each other, I smoothed my skirts and sat down, quietly turning my head toward the far end of the grounds.

The horns rang out, the ceremonial procession began, and beneath a dazzling canopy, two magnificent steeds — one black and one white — galloped out side by side.

Astride the ink-black warhorse was Xiao Qi, clad in black robes and golden armor. Zidan, in his brilliant yellow dragon robe, wore silver armor and rode his white horse a half-step ahead.

The sunlight blazed off the war armor, making my eyes faintly sting. I turned aside and glimpsed Empress Hu sitting upright beside me, watching the scene ahead without blinking, her gaze intent, her expression veiled.

These were each our own beloved — I wondered whether what she felt watching Zidan was any different from what I felt watching Xiao Qi.

The mounted archery competition began. Five golden cups had been hung at the far end of the grounds. The competitors would take turns shooting light arrows at them, and whoever struck a cup would receive it filled with wine.

The light arrows had no arrowheads, making it truly difficult to judge force and aim — this was what truly tested one’s archery skill.

The young men in the arena rode and drew their bows, while the ladies observed from a distance.

Xiao Qi rode into the arena, and the crowd on all sides immediately erupted in thunderous cheering and shouts of admiration, raising the spirits greatly.

Then Zidan suddenly spurred his horse forward, overtook Xiao Qi, and a step ahead of everyone else snatched the carved bow offered by the ceremonial official.

It happened so suddenly that there was no time to see Xiao Qi’s reaction — Zidan had already drawn the bow and nocked the arrow. The string sang, the swift arrow split the air, and the golden cup dropped to the ground.

The arena instantly fell silent. The ladies were struck dumb for a moment, and then let out cries of astonishment.

A cold sweat broke over me, my heart pounding violently. But then I heard Xiao Qi begin to clap slowly, and only then did the crowd roar their approval.

The ceremonial official stepped forward to take the carved bow from Zidan’s hand. Zidan wheeled his horse, and without even glancing at the ceremonial official, flung the carved bow directly onto the ground.

An uproar rose from the arena. Xiao Qi coolly tilted his head, and said in a low, measured voice, “Your Majesty, please hold.”

Zidan reined in his horse but did not turn around.

“To show contempt for a ceremonial implement is a grave offense,” Xiao Qi said evenly, his tone light. “We respectfully ask Your Majesty to retrieve the ceremonial implement.”

“We do not care for bowing and stooping,” Zidan said, his face iron-gray, his gaze locked in confrontation with Xiao Qi. For a moment, the tension was as keen as drawn blades.

I was seized with alarm, sensing something deeply unusual in Zidan’s manner today — a strong and ominous feeling rising in me. I hesitated for a moment, and was about to rise when Empress Hu was already on her feet, rushing forward before I could.

Under the eyes of all present, Hu Yao strode into the arena, stooped to pick up the carved bow, and raised it in both hands to offer it to Zidan.

Her action broke the standoff. Yet for her, a woman of the Empress’s dignity, to personally retrieve the bow was still a severe humiliation to the imperial family’s honor.

Zidan’s face grew even darker, his chest rising and falling, utterly motionless as he stared at Xiao Qi — without so much as sparing Hu Yao a glance.

“Congratulations to Your Majesty for striking the golden cup.” Xiao Qi gave a slight bow with a smile, then turned to instruct those around him, “Someone, bring wine.”

The attendants hurried to present the golden cup filled with fine wine. Zidan appeared not to hear this at all. Suddenly he leaned forward, seized the carved bow from Hu Yao’s hands, drew an arrow, and pulled the string — the bow arched full as a rising moon, the arrowhead pointed directly at Xiao Qi.

That arrow was no longer the blunt competition shaft — it was a true white-feathered iron war arrow, made to kill.