It was high noon. The brilliant sunlight suddenly congealed as if to ice.

The sharp edges of the black iron arrowhead caught the sunlight and threw off a white glare that cut into my eyes like a blade.

The moment Zidan raised his bow, all the blood in my body ran cold.

The arrowhead and Xiao Qi’s throat were no more than five paces apart.

The snow-white feathers at the arrow’s tail were pinched in Zidan’s hand. The blue veins rose from his wrist, the bow bent full as a moon, the string stretched to breaking — one touch away from release.

In my eyes, there was suddenly only blinding white — Zidan’s face was ghostly pale, his knuckles blanched, and the cold gleam of the arrowhead was white as well.

In all the world, nothing remained but a cold, deathly white. Only Xiao Qi’s figure in its black robe and golden armor stood motionless at the center of Heaven and earth.

Xiao Qi sat upright on his horse, his back toward me. I could not see his expression, only his straight back — perfectly still, not yielding by a fraction. The sweeping sleeves of his black and gold robe hung motionless, as immovable as a mountain, as still as a deep pool.

“Your Majesty, hold steady,” said Xiao Qi in a low voice carrying a trace of grave, restrained menace. “One misstep, and the blood that flows will not be your minister’s alone.”

Zidan’s face grew even more ghostly pale.

If this arrow were loosed, and Xiao Qi’s blood were to splash the imperial gardens, what would follow would be all-engulfing vengeance, slaughter, and chaos.

An enemy’s blood might wash away the disgrace of a moment. But the price would be the blood of kin, of loved ones, of clansmen — and of all the people beneath Heaven.

“Your Majesty!” A faint, choked cry shattered the killing silence before us. Empress Hu had knelt — she knelt before Zidan’s horse, her crimson hem trailing on the ground, the pearls hanging from her phoenix crown trembling.

I, too, stood frozen. I had never seen her look so helpless and without strength. The young Empress, usually composed and forthright, had now completely lost her bearing. She could only hang her head and weep, doing her utmost to suppress the sobs rising in her throat — and yet could not suppress the violent shaking of her shoulders.

The two men in their tense confrontation before her glanced at neither her nor each other, no one turning aside. They allowed the mother of an entire nation to collapse on her knees in the dust. Yet Zidan’s arrow visibly trembled — the bowstring remained taut, but the strength in his hands seemed to have somewhat flagged.

After all, the woman now kneeling in the dust, covering her face in anguish, was his wife.

If it were I in her place, would Xiao Qi soften and waver?

I would never know — because I was not Hu Yao, and I would never kneel before a powerful enemy.

“The Empress need not be alarmed. His Majesty and His Highness the Prince are simply having an archery contest.” I walked quickly into the arena and stooped to help Hu Yao up.

As my right hand supported Hu Yao, I pressed my left hand against my lapel and raised my eyes to look directly at Zidan.

He knew what I was pressing beneath my left hand — that very short sword I kept concealed close to my body.

— Zidan, if you loose this arrow, I will avenge him without fail. I will offer every drop of imperial blood as sacrifice — including my own.

He fixed his gaze on me, his eyes sharp as needles, as awls, as thorns. In the depths of his pupils something like a dark flame burned, consuming the last vestiges of hope, leaving only ashes.

Xiao Qi laughed and tilted his head slightly toward me. His sharp-lined profile cut against the sun, the corners of his lips lifting in a cold, proud arc.

“The Princess Consort speaks wisely. Your Majesty’s archery is divine — your subject cannot match it.” With a long, unhurried laugh, he swung down from his horse and turned his back to Zidan’s taut bow with sovereign ease, walking without a backward glance toward the ceremonial official.

The ceremonial official knelt to one side, trembling, raising the golden cup high above his head.

I supported Hu Yao and handed her over to the serving maids, then turned to face Zidan and bowed deeply. “Please allow your subject-consort to offer wine to Your Majesty.”

With pale hands I took hold of the jade flagon, pouring the fragrant, clear wine into the golden cup.

The sweet scent of wine wafted through the air. I raised both the cups on a jade tray with my own hands.

Zidan’s arms slowly lowered. The bow slackened, the string went limp, and the murderous spirit dissolved.

Xiao Qi raised his cup toward Zidan, his wide sleeves sweeping through the air, his bearing arrogant, his thin lips curled in a faint note of contempt.

The parade grounds stretched out wide and empty. Pennants flapped on all sides, the wind rushing and snapping — and then Xiao Qi’s voice rang out clear and strong:

“Long live our Emperor—”

From all around, the answering cries of “Long live!” surged up like a tide, swallowing the sound of the iron bow dropping to the ground.

Amid the all-encompassing chorus of adulation, Zidan sat alone and aloft on his horse — high above everyone, yet swaying as if on the verge of collapse.

The next day, the imperial physician declared that the Emperor’s health required quiet rest and recuperation.

The inner court issued a decree: the Emperor would depart that very day to the Orchid Pool Retreat outside the capital, and Prince Yuzhang was appointed to oversee all government affairs.

It had come to this — nothing could be undone.

I knew that with this departure, Zidan would likely be kept at the Orchid Pool for a very long time, with no telling when he might return.

Rumors had already spread through both court and the common streets, saying the Emperor had behaved without dignity and with violent impropriety — that he had attempted to shoot dead a meritorious subject and struck at a pillar of the state in public… There were even more unbearable rumors that I no longer wished to hear.

Xiao Qi had at last obtained the finest justification to confine Zidan.

I did not understand what Zidan had been thinking. I did not understand why he had chosen to provoke Xiao Qi.

I had exhausted every effort simply to keep him safe, and yet he had deliberately thrown himself against the edge of the blade.

What else could I do? With everything in my power, the most I could manage was to arrange everything within and without the Orchid Pool Palace, so that his days there would not be too difficult. On the other side, I needed to protect Hu Yao’s safety and ensure his child came into the world without harm.

It was at my insistence that Empress Hu had not accompanied the Emperor to the Orchid Pool and had been permitted to remain in the palace.

After returning from the parade grounds, she had fallen ill with a fever, her mind in confusion, her condition worsening day by day.

Days passed without any sign of improvement. Anxious for the safety of mother and child, I could no longer heed the imperial physician’s discouragement and insisted on entering the palace to visit.

The bed curtains hung low. Beneath the madder-red gauze, Hu Yao lay quietly, her pallid face flushed with a feverish tinge. Her brows were tightly knitted, her thin lips half-bitten, as though even in her dreams she was still struggling.

I reached out to feel her forehead, but Lady Xu stopped me. “The Princess Consort’s health is precious — the imperial physician has advised against going close to an invalid.”

My words seemed to have disturbed Hu Yao. Before I could respond, I saw her body give a start, her eyes half-opening, staring directly at me, as she breathed out two indistinct syllables. I was closest to her and caught it, faint but unmistakable — she was calling “His Highness the Prince!”

That single utterance sent a tremendous jolt through my heart. After a long while, I composed myself, dismissed everyone, and remained alone with Hu Yao in the empty central palace chamber.

“A’Yao, tell me who you wish to see.” I reached out and took her hand, and felt her palm burning to the touch.

Half-conscious, her eyes clouded with a mixture of haze and sorrow, Hu Yao murmured, “Your Highness, I beg you to spare the Emperor — spare this child… A’Yao will defy you no more, A’Yao knows her fault…”

She moaned these words in a delirium, clutching my hand with a fierce grip, clinging to it as a drowning person clings to the only rope that might save her.

I took a step back, and suddenly lost all foothold, sinking down onto the edge of the bed as if plunged into a pool of icy water — utterly unable even to struggle.

Hu Yao — she, too, was a piece Xiao Qi had placed on the board. She, too, was someone who served Xiao Qi with wholehearted loyalty! I had chosen her with such careful deliberation, believing that being young and guileless, she would have no intention of harming Zidan even if she came from the Hu family… Before my eyes flickered the scene on the parade grounds — Zidan seizing the bow, casting the bow down, drawing the bow, and that look of furious, near-crazed hatred. Recalling all the unusual behavior of him and Hu Yao, a chill suddenly seeped from the depths of my heart. I did not dare to think further.

Zidan — he must have already discovered the truth.

When he found that the person lying at his side was merely a game piece — and believed that it was I who had chosen her, I who had placed her there — I dared not imagine what kind of despair and rage he must have felt.

What anguish and fury could have driven Zidan, there on the parade grounds, to draw his bow without regard for consequences?

He hated Xiao Qi. He hated me. He hated Hu Yao. He hated everyone who had deceived him. If there were still a chance for explanation, could I still beg his forgiveness?

I sank against my hands and covered my face. I wanted to weep, but found I had no more tears.

This familiar hall had imprisoned my aunt for a lifetime. Now it was replaying, in Hu Yao, a tragedy written in the same fate.

Crossing the threshold of the hall, I walked forward in a daze, not knowing where I should go. Yet my feet moved of their own accord, as if drawn by some direction, leading me straight toward one place.

“Princess Consort, where are you going?” Lady Xu caught up with me, asking with cautious concern.

I stopped where I stood, and after a long moment remembered — this was the direction of the Emperor’s bedchamber.

Yet that palace had long been empty, with no one left in it whom I wished to visit.

In the tranquil night, beneath pale silk lanterns, I gazed at Xiao Qi’s silhouette bent in concentration over his memorials. Several times I almost called out to him, but each time I held back, until it dissolved into a soundless sigh.

Even if I asked him, what would come of it? He had deceived me again and again, yet I had concealed things from him again and again as well. We both understood this fully — and neither was willing to yield. Since that was so, what need was there to lay it bare? So long as we could still forgive each other, let these days continue as they were. This time, I had at last learned to be silent.

That day, returning from the parade grounds to the Prince’s residence, he had carried me home in his arms the entire way. The moment we boarded the carriage, every ounce of my courage and composure was shattered by the terror of what had nearly happened. That arrow had been no more than five paces from his throat. Only now did cold sweat finally drench my layered garments. All that was well was only because he was still here. If I were to lose him, my life, too, would sink into darkness.

Between him and Zidan, I knew clearly the difference in weight of these two feelings — if he were to kill Zidan, I would be in agony; but if Zidan were to kill him, I would fight with my life.

It would soon be the anniversary of my mother’s passing.

By my reckoning, my brother ought to have reached the Turks long ago and should be on his way back — yet there had been no news of him.

Xiao Qi always comforted me by saying that the northern frontier was far away, and some delay was to be expected. But there was clearly a trace of quiet unease between his brows. I understood his worry, as he understood my anxiety — at a time when the great northern officials were being rotated, the Turks had always been inconstant. Even if my brother had been delayed on the road, it was wrong that all communications had ceased entirely.

News between the northern frontier and the capital had been cut off for half a month. The Road Administration reported that mountain paths had been destroyed and collapsed, temporarily severing north-south traffic.

But even so, this matter remained deeply unsettling. Even if Xiao Qi would not speak of affairs of state before me, I could nonetheless detect a foreboding omen from his busyness and anxiety.

These past few days I had been inexplicably restless, unable to sleep at night, unable to taste my food.

A woman’s intuition is always remarkably accurate — especially when disaster is near.

A few days later, a catastrophe that shook the entire court descended from the northern frontier.

General Tang Jing of the Dragon-Soaring Army had rebelled. The Turks had seized the moment to rise up, and had already pushed through the frontier passes into the interior.

Beacon fires were lit. The border city fell into chaos.

Tang Jing was wildly ambitious, prideful of his great achievements, and deeply suspicious in nature. He had long been unwilling to defer to Hu and Song, and had harbored resentment toward Xiao Qi for some time.

When his military authority was stripped from him this time, the will to rebel finally broke forth.

The sixth day of the sixth month, ninth day.

Tang Jing killed the newly appointed northern frontier pacification commissioner, detained the deputy commander, and spread rumors through the army claiming that Prince Yuzhang was suspicious of meritorious subjects and stripping them of their military power — that in order to please the aristocratic clans, he was suppressing military men of humble birth. He warned that any who resisted would face slaughter.

In an instant, rumors spread through the army and morale collapsed.

Those who remained loyal to Xiao Qi and refused to heed the false rumors were either detained or stripped of their positions.

Colonel Cao Lianchang argued vigorously against the accusations and was killed before the command tent, his blood spattering the gate.

That night, Tang Jing led fifty thousand rebel troops in an insurrection within the encampment, launching a night raid and driving straight for Ningshuo.

Soldiers who refused to join the rebellion were mostly slaughtered; the rest were forced to defect and submit.

At dawn, the wolf-banner of the Southern Turks’ King Hulu suddenly appeared in the distance.

A hundred thousand Turkic cavalry came howling like a sandstorm, rolling up billowing yellow dust.

Tang Jing’s rebel army united with the Turks below the city walls, launching a fierce assault on the gates and fighting a vicious battle with the Ningshuo garrison forces through two days and two nights.

By the fifth watch of the next day, below the city walls it was already a river of blood with mountains of corpses. The General of the North stationed at Ningshuo, Mou Lian, and his deputy Xie Xiaohe fought to the death, lighting beacon fires with one hand and dispatching swift riders to gallop south, sending urgent dispatches to the court.

On the third day at noon, the Northern Turkic forces arrived. King Douluo led two hundred and fifty thousand iron cavalry across a thousand miles of desert, proclaiming they would trample the Central Plains and wipe clean an old humiliation.

Four hundred thousand ferocious troops nearly buried the entire city of Ningshuo in seas of blood and mountains of corpses.

Prince Jiangxia and Grand Princess Hejing, who had just arrived among the Turks, were seized as hostages by King Hulu and marched before the battle lines.

The twelve northern frontier tribes thereupon jointly rose in rebellion as well.

On the fifteenth day of the sixth month, the city of Ningshuo fell.

The Northern Defense General Mou Lian died in battle. Madam Cao, his wife, donned armor and took to the field herself, dying upon the city walls.

The Turks entered the city, slaughtering, pillaging, and setting fires. They swept away valuables; any residents who offered even the slightest resistance were killed on the spot. The frontier stronghold that had once flourished turned in a single night into a field of carnage.

Deputy General Xie Xiaohe fought desperately to save Mou’s young daughter, cutting a bloody escape through the encirclement, and fled south through the night.

The defensive works of the northern territory had originally been built entirely by Xiao Qi. Since Tang Jing had taken over the garrison, he had long since mastered every mechanism and defensive arrangement in detail. Tang Jing, known by his epithet “the Belly-Viper,” moved with uncanny swiftness and deception in battle, truly an exceptional commander of his era — in strategy and method, he had few equals in the military. This time the rebellion had erupted from within, the rebel forces advancing with overwhelming momentum and backed by both the Southern and Northern Turks — an unstoppable force.

The nearby prefectures and counties scrambled to respond, with almost no capacity to hold their ground.

The garrison commanders were no match for Tang Jing, and the troop strength stationed throughout was far inferior to the rebels and the Turks.

With Ningshuo’s fall, it was as though a pack of vicious wolves had torn through the fence. The northern frontier prefectures were suddenly trampled under iron hooves.

In a mere span of ten-odd days, four prefectures had already fallen one after another.

The hoofbeats of the Turks once again thundered across the Central Plains.

When the news arrived, it was like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky — the entire realm was shocked.

At court, General Xie Xiaohe spoke through grief and fury, every word drenched in tears and blood.

All the civil and military officials mourned deeply. General Mou’s brother-in-law, Vice Minister Cao Yun, prostrated himself in the hall in overwhelming grief, fainting outright. Xie Xiaohe and the other military generals swore to fight to the death and begged to be sent to battle.

Mou Lian — the young general who had stood beside me and fought the enemy shoulder to shoulder at Ningshuo — and his steadfast, resolute wife had thus parted from me forever.

I had no way of knowing — facing the assembled civil and military officials, facing the grief-stricken and vengeful subordinates, even facing that seven-year-old daughter of Mou’s — in that moment, what was the inner state of the Regent Prince, the great general, the man who commanded the awe of all Heaven and Earth, my husband?

A trusted subordinate of ten years’ devotion, now turned to treachery in a single day. An enemy had been brought through the gates. The land had fallen. Disaster had engulfed the people.

Half a lifetime of warfare, and the hard-won peace was shattered at a stroke.

Who suffered the most. Who felt the deepest hatred. Who felt the deepest regret.

At this moment, all the world was watching one man — Prince Yuzhang, Xiao Qi.

This name — the demon of peaceful times, the god of a chaotic age.

In the great hall, three edicts were issued, spread throughout the capital in a single day, shaking the entire realm.

The first: General Mou was posthumously bestowed the title of Marquis of Awe and Valor; Madam Cao was honored as the Chaste and Valorous Lady; Mou’s young daughter was received as Prince Yuzhang’s adopted daughter.

The second: all the generals and soldiers fallen at Ningshuo were each raised three ranks in nobility, with generous gifts of gold bestowed upon their families.

The third: Prince Yuzhang, bearing imperial commission to suppress the rebellion, would personally lead the northern campaign in three days.