After the fifth watch passed, not a trace of dawn appeared; the sky grew increasingly overcast and gloomy, and beyond the curtains, wind and rain were gathering.

My consciousness drifted in and out amid the torment of pain. Before my eyes swayed the figures of the midwife and handmaids; in a daze, I seemed to see someone’s hands stained crimson red.

The bed curtains hanging down before me swayed back and forth, now near, now far, like the sounds around me — now clear, now muffled.

Nanny Xu had stayed by my side the entire time, gripping my hand tightly, calling my name again and again, not letting me fall into unconsciousness.

Closing my eyes, I seemed to see beacon fires blazing in the distance — and there, atop a pitch-black, raging warhorse, Xiao Qi stood drenched in blood, his long sword cleaving through the sky, scattering arcs of crimson light across the heavens… At this very moment, where are you?

The scent of medicine mingled with the calming incense, heavy as water, drifting into my nostrils and making me drowsy.

Yet I dared not close my eyes, for I did not know whether, if I fell asleep, I would ever wake again.

Nanny Xu’s face was drenched in sweat as she urged the several nurses in rapid succession.

“Nanny Xu…” I grabbed her hand and forced myself to speak. “I have something to tell you. Remember every word I say now — not one character may differ.”

“Don’t say such foolish things, you foolish child!” Nanny Xu could no longer hold herself together; tears streamed down her aged face as she collapsed at the edge of the bed.

I gently closed my eyes and smiled. “If I am no longer in this world, and His Highness the Prince takes another wife in the future… I want you to convey this to His Highness: even if this child is not his only heir someday, he is the only legitimate son who can inherit the imperial succession!”

This life had seen too many upheavals and reversals; I had long since stopped believing in permanence.

As deep as my devotion to Xiao Qi ran, so too ran my understanding of him.

The vows he had made that day — I did not hope he would keep them all. I only prayed he would honor his promise regarding his heir and treat this child well.

“This old servant has committed it to memory.” Nanny Xu choked back her tears and nodded silently.

I bit my lip and after a moment of silence said, “If it is a girl… when she grows up, you must ensure she stays far from the imperial court.”

The entire night’s agony had long since numbed all sensation. In a daze, I heard the wind and rain grow suddenly fierce, each gust striking my ears.

A crack of thunder shook the heavens.

After the thunder, a baby’s cry rang out — clear and bright.

Was it an illusion? I struggled to raise myself and look, but everything before my eyes was a blur.

“Congratulations to Her Highness the Princess Consort — the little commandery princess has been safely born into the world!”

It was a daughter — a daughter after all. My daughter.

In that instant, all suffering and pain receded into stillness. The wonder and beauty of life brought tears streaming down my face.

I had not yet had time to hold my daughter when another wave of pain surged through me, plunging me straight down into a dark abyss.

I dimly heard someone cry out in alarm: “It’s twins!”

Nanny Xu gripped my hand; she was trembling violently. “A’Wu, can you hear me? There is another baby… Heavens, I beg you to protect A’Wu. May the late Princess, in her divine wisdom, watch over them — mother and child safe, long life a hundred years…”

What one fears most is not the pain itself, but the weariness that presses down like iron, crushing one’s will, making one want only to cast everything aside, to surrender, to sink into sleep, to drift away weightlessly between heaven and earth, free as one wishes, never again to feel fatigue or suffering… What a temptation that was. What a longing.

In the haze, I seemed to see my mother, and then many familiar faces… There was sister Wanru, there was Jin’er, and even Zhuyan. They all gazed at me with distant, fading eyes and slowly drew near, pressing closer and closer… I could not move, could not cry out; suddenly fear seized me by the throat.

Xiao Qi… where are you? Why don’t you come and save me?

In the darkness I sank deeper and deeper, colder and colder, unable to see even a sliver of light, unable to hear even the faintest sound.

Then suddenly, as if from the farthest edge of the sky, a faint thread of an infant’s cry drifted toward me, growing gradually louder, gradually clearer.

That was my daughter — her voice, calling for her mother.

That tender, fragile cry came to me again and again, drawing me, turning me, guiding me toward the light.

“A’Wu, A’Wu —” Nanny Xu’s aged, heart-rending voice grew clearer little by little. I even felt her hands shaking me hard, gripping my shoulders until they ached faintly.

“The young heir is showing signs of life!” The midwife’s startled and joyful cry suddenly reached my ears. My whole body shuddered; I snapped open my eyes.

The midwife was holding a baby upside down, striking his back with force.

I erupted into a violent coughing fit, and the breath in my chest immediately began to circulate again; my breathing cleared — yet I still could not speak.

Almost simultaneously, the infant in the midwife’s hands let out a faint cry, like a pitiful little kitten.

The two swaddled infants were brought before me.

The one in the red swaddling was the elder sister; the one in the yellow swaddling was the younger brother.

Their delicate little faces, pink and fine as gossamer, looked alike; their jet-black, glossy, fine hair was alike too — reaching all the way down to their ears. Every newborn I had ever seen had only a pale, yellowish layer of downy fuzz; never had I seen a child born with such beautiful natal hair.

Yet this pair of twins did not resemble each other in features or appearance.

Cradled in the crook of my arm, the girl in the crimson brocade immediately opened her eyes — a pair of darting, jet-black orbs gazing at me, her tender little mouth slightly pouted, her small hands restlessly waving about. Her manner and features were strikingly like her father’s. The little boy, meanwhile, lay quietly in his swaddling, his long lashes thickly lowered, his delicate brow faintly knitted — his face bore a faint resemblance to me.

Nanny Xu told me: when the young heir was born, he neither cried nor moved, with no breath at all, while I had lost consciousness, with no pulse.

She had nearly concluded that both the child and I had not survived — when my daughter suddenly burst into a wail, crying so wrenchingly it could split the heart.

It was that cry which, in some mysterious way, woke me, pulling me back from the razor’s edge between life and death.

The young heir was struck by the midwife until he expelled the water from his chest, and he finally cried out as well — surviving by a miracle.

Xiao Yuxiu had been keeping vigil outside for a very long while. The moment she saw the midwife and handmaid come out to report that all was well, she threw caution aside and dashed in.

She looked at the two babies, then looked at me. Our eyes met, and we both burst into tears at the same moment.

At a moment like this, anything said seemed superfluous.

After a long, long while, she gently held the babies for a moment and said through her tears, “How wonderful, how wonderful… When His Highness hears of this, how overjoyed he will be!”

I had no strength to speak; I only reached out my hand to take hers, smiled silently, and conveyed my gratitude.

A messenger had already been sent racing on horseback toward the northern frontier. By my reckoning of the days, Xiao Qi should receive the joyful news within these two days.

Imagining what his reaction might be — whether he would be beside himself with joy… He certainly would not dare believe it. Heaven had shown us such favor.

What names would he give the children? This father was thousands of miles away; by the time he settled on names, there was no telling when that would be. The names he came up with would surely carry the spirit of iron and blade… I could not help laughing. I gazed at my daughter in her swaddling, watching her kick her legs and wave her arms, always trying to grab my finger and bring it to her mouth to suckle. I felt I could look at her forever and never have my fill. In the softest place deep within my heart, it was as if a sweet, cool spring trickled through.

When she was born, a fine rain had been falling softly, and between heaven and earth, everything was fresh and clean as if newly washed.

I did not care whether these two children were born with dragon and phoenix grace. I only wished them peace and happiness all their lives, tranquil and serene.

Slanting rain fell softly, washing the world clean. The pet name for my daughter — let it be Xiaoxiao.

My son — I hoped he would not only inherit his father’s martial valor, but also possess a clear and unblemished heart, so that he would not have to be like his parents, with hands stained in blood… His pet name would be “Che” — pure and clear as a spring beyond the mortal world.

Half a month passed in the blink of an eye.

Life is so miraculous, so astonishing. Watching the two children, seeing them change and grow day by day, often left me staring in disbelief — amid unceasing war, strife, grievances, and enmity, only by looking at these two children did I feel that beauty and hope still existed in this world.

The congratulatory gifts from the imperial clansmen and court officials piled up like a mountain — rare treasures and precious jewels dazzling to the eye in every direction.

An attendant came in alone to present a plain sandalwood box — that was Zidan’s congratulatory gift.

An ordinary-looking box, yet when I held it in my hands, it felt as heavy as a thousand pounds. Resting upon water-blue plain satin inside the box lay a pair of gilded gold arm bands inlaid with jade.

I stared at those two gold bands, and a creeping ache tightened inch by inch in my chest, a melancholy pain spreading and spreading, impossible to dissolve.

The old custom of arm bands held that they should be wound around a girl’s arm at her birth and worn until her wedding day, when her husband would remove them — symbolizing protection and fulfillment.

The old pledge was still remembered; the original bond had already been destroyed. Neither of us had managed to protect that initial wholeness.

Having these gilded arm bands, this jade ring — it only added one more layer of irony.

So be it. At this point, whether mockery or resentment, in the end I owe it all to you.

On the ninth day of the tenth month, a victory report came galloping in: Prince Yuzhang had recovered Ningshuo, decisively defeated the Southern Turks at the Hetian fields, taken the royal city, and slain the rebel general Tang Jing beneath its walls.

Three days later, the city fell; the Hule Khan abandoned his kingdom and fled northward to the desert. Members of the royal clan still in the city who had not escaped in time were all executed in the marketplace.

Prince Yuzhang held a grand banquet for his generals in the royal court, receiving from the Turks their ritual vessels, astronomical instruments, and gnomon devices, which he then distributed as rewards to his officers and as commendations throughout the three armies.

From the highest halls of the imperial court to the lowliest market lanes, everyone was jubilant and exhilarated.

Prince Yuzhang’s brilliant military achievements — for the nation, for the people, for history, for all under heaven — signified stability, strength, pride, and glory.

And all of this, for me, simply meant that the one who had journeyed far away would at last be coming home.

A thin personal letter arrived home along with the victory report.

Heedless of A’Yue standing nearby, I reached with trembling hands to pull out that thin, plain sheet of paper — and before I had even unfolded the letter, tears were already falling.

I had not dared indulge in longing, for fear that the sorrow of separation would shake my resolve.

Yet in the moment of unfolding that letter, all my defenses crumbled.

This was the letter he had sent home from the frontier, ablaze with beacon fires, traveling a thousand miles.

Within the ink strokes, between the lines of text, every brushstroke was bold and forceful — the dust of the march seemed to rise from the page.

In a daze, it was as if I had arrived at the banks of the Wuding River, beneath the Helian Terrace. The road home through Yuguan Pass stretched endlessly. A general rode across icy frost, alone beneath the solitary moon and the Qiang flute. Though half a life had been spent in iron and blood, in the end one could not escape the tender sorrow of longing. How many times had he dreamed of crossing mountain passes, catching a glimpse of his beloved wife and beautiful children — the yearning wearing to the bone, sharper even than blade or axe. How many times had he laughed, how many times had he wept — a thin, plain sheet of paper, read word by word, breaking the heart inch by inch.

I laughed and tilted my head back, afraid the tears would fall and soak the ink.

“Your Highness…” A’Yue called to me anxiously, hovering nearby, not daring to ask.

“His Highness has given the heir and the commandery princess their names. The boy’s name is Yunshuo; the girl’s name is Yunning.” I still smiled.

“Ah,” A’Yue understood at once. “That is to commemorate the recovery of Ningshuo!”

I smiled and nodded, then shook my head again.

Yun — it meant promise, a pledge; Ningshuo — more than that, it was the very place where we had truly first met.

Meeting, pledging, staying together — along this road, through wind and rain, twists and turns, all the bitterness and sweetness within — how could it be told to outsiders?

“That is wonderful,” Xiao Yuxiu said happily with a smile. “When will His Highness return in triumph to the capital?”

I lowered my head, smiled without speaking, and slowly folded the plain paper, tucking it back into the brocade box. “His Highness says…”

The moment I opened my mouth, I choked. Clearly I was trying to smile, yet tears fell anyway.

I drew a deep breath and gazed toward the distant northern sky. “His Highness has resolved to press the advantage and advance northward with his forces, leveling the southern and northern Turks.”

Until the Son of Heaven’s lands are reclaimed, one does not look homeward.

Tang Jing was dead. The rebel forces were destroyed. But this war was far from over.

My husband had not hurried the thousand miles home; he had not withdrawn his troops to be reunited with his wife and children sooner. Instead he continued northward, expanding the territory, crushing the barbarians, going to fulfill his grand ambitions and satisfy the wish of a lifetime.

This was my husband.

He belonged to the iron-blooded frontier, to the ten thousand miles of rivers and mountains — the one place he did not belong was the inner chambers.

On the twelfth day of the tenth month, the assembled court ministers submitted a memorial, citing Prince Yuzhang’s high merit and broad virtue, and requesting that the conferment of the Nine Imperial Gifts be bestowed upon him.

The rites prescribe nine gifts: first, chariots and horses; second, ceremonial garments; third, musical standards; fourth, vermilion gates; fifth, the approach ramp to the hall; sixth, tiger guards; seventh, bows and arrows; eighth, battle axes; ninth, ritual black millet wine. Since the Zhou Dynasty, the bestowal of the Nine Gifts had been the highest form of imperial reward, signifying the omen of abdication.

Throughout successive dynasties, once a powerful minister received the bestowal of the Nine Gifts, it was taken as a sign that the heavenly mandate was near.

Zidan’s abdication was only a matter of time. When Xiao Qi returned in triumph, it would be the moment the realm changed hands.

On the fifteenth day of the tenth month, the court issued a decree bestowing upon Prince Yuzhang the Son of Heaven’s ceremonial banners, a carriage drawn by six horses, five sets of auxiliary carriages for different seasons, the yak-tail cloud banner, and the eight-row ceremonial dance.

Prince Yuzhang’s eldest son, Che, was enfeoffed as the Commandery Prince of Yanshuo; his daughter was enfeoffed as the Commandery Princess of Yanningn.