Deep in the night, all was still.

I had dismissed the handmaids and was coaxing the two children to sleep by myself. Xiaoxiao amused herself playing with her own fingers; Che’er had already fallen asleep. In his dreams, the little one still furrowed his brow with a grave and serious expression that dimly recalled Xiao Qi. I wanted to kiss his little face, yet feared waking him. I lay draped over the cradle, gazing at these two children — the longer I looked, the sweeter my heart felt, yet the longer I looked, the more wistful I became. Without realizing it, the years had quietly slipped by. Since I had married Xiao Qi, ten years had already passed… Ten years — how many more ten-year spans does a lifetime hold?

From fifteen, a maiden just coming into bloom, to twenty-five in the full flower of womanhood — an innocent girl who had married into a general’s household and walked this road by his side all the way. As his wife, as a mother — the endless rises and falls, sorrows and joys, were contained within these ten years. When I tried to recall them, they seemed to vanish in an instant.

Looking back, I could not remember from what moment I had entrusted my entire life to this man.

Was it on the cliff at the frontier beyond the pass, when in the space between life and death I had been startled into giving him my heart? Or was it the shared hardship amid displacement and isolation when we had no one but each other? I was fated by destiny to meet him, and I had never had an opportunity to resist. But had I truly resisted? In the moment when he spurred his horse with sword in hand, in the moment when he leapt down from the high platform — had I ever hesitated, ever resisted?

From that day of rewarding the troops, from the first moment I set eyes on him — had I not, without realizing it, already carved that figure into my heart?

And when we met again in Ningshuo, that towering figure blazed more intensely in my eyes than the roaring beacon fires.

“You are my princess consort — the woman who shares my entire life with me. I will not allow you to be weak” — if one surveyed all the men in the world, perhaps he alone could love a woman in such a way. Those words became the spell of my entire life; from that moment they bound me to his side, to advance and retreat together, to share both bitter and sweet — leaving no room ever to retreat in fear.

Before my eyes, candle wax dripped low — every drop the tears of a separated soul, breaking one’s heart.

“Sir, please stop — Her Highness has already retired for the night!” Outside came the sound of hurried footsteps, jarring my composure.

“Who is making that commotion?” I stepped out of the inner room and gently pulled the door open, for fear of waking the children.

It was already nearly the third watch; and yet there at the door was Song Huai’an.

In the moonlight his expression was difficult to make out, but I could see that his attire was not fully in order — he appeared to have come hurrying directly from his home.

“What has happened?” The question left my lips at once.

“Your Highness…” He stepped forward, holding in his hand a thin brownish-red folded document — a sealed confidential military dispatch.

Song Huai’an looked straight at me. His complexion had never been so pale, and even his voice was different from usual. “An eight-hundred-li urgent military report has just arrived. Several days ago, the situation at the northern frontier changed — His Highness the Prince led his troops deep into the mountain pass and encountered a surprise attack by the Turks… Contact has been lost!”

I was stunned for a moment, then suddenly understood. A roaring filled my ears; I could plainly see his lips moving, yet could not make out what he was saying.

Someone beside me supported me, gripping my hand tightly.

Taking a breath, I broke free of whoever was beside me and reached out to snatch the sealed dispatch from his hand.

“The situation is still unclear — Your Highness must not panic…” Song Huai’an said urgently.

“Give it to me!” I suddenly flared with anger, grabbed the dispatch out of his hands by force. The characters before me were clear enough to read, yet I could not make sense of them — all at once I did not recognize a single word. Someone beside me kept saying something to me, but I could not hear them. I only wanted to understand what was written on that paper. It was too noisy — the buzzing voices around me made my head spin, cold sweat breaking out continuously… I said not a word, suddenly turned and ran back to my room, shutting everyone out.

Under the lamplight, black characters on white paper — one by one they seemed to float on the page, leaping and shifting constantly, making my eyes ache with a raw, stinging pain.

Xiao Qi had received my sealed letter; knowing of the Hu clan’s treasonous intentions, he had immediately placed Hu Guanglie under arrest on charges of insubordination on the field of battle.

Unexpectedly, before he could act, the news had already leaked. Hu Guanglie led a troop of personal guards in a breakout from the main camp and fled westward under cover of night.

Filled with fury, Xiao Qi personally led troops in pursuit, driving hard hundreds of miles through the night and deep into a narrow mountain pass, until he had utterly annihilated Hu Guanglie’s forces.

On the return march to camp, a sudden change in the heavens brought signs of disaster. A violent snowstorm descended, and Turk troops seized the opportunity to launch a surprise attack on the rear guard. Xiao Qi led the vanguard back to reinforce them but fell into an ambush and suffered a heavy defeat.

Retreating to the mouth of the pass, a great avalanche collapsed. The entire vanguard army had already entered the mountain valley and from that point lost all trace — it was feared they had met with calamity.

Line by line, the characters swam and shook — yet it was my own hands that were trembling.

Darkness closed before my eyes; I could no longer see clearly. The world seemed to spin, pressing down heavy and black upon me.

Impossible — this could not be true. Anyone might fail, but Xiao Qi never would! He was a god — the war god who could never be defeated! What did “lost contact” even mean? It was clearly nonsense. He had only been temporarily blocked by the snowstorm; he would certainly return to camp safely, certainly be fine! I clung with what remained of my will to the edge of the table. From the depths of my heart came a voice, faint yet clear: “He will certainly come back… I will wait for him to come back!”

I could not be like this. I could not collapse right now — collapse now and I would never stand again.

The door was pushed open; they forced their way in, alarm written across their faces.

Someone’s voice was choked with tears, seeming to come from very far away. I turned my head blankly. “Why are you crying?”

Before me were Song Huai’an and Nanny Xu — both seemed struck dumb by my expression and stood rooted to the spot.

I fixed my gaze on her. “His Highness the Prince is perfectly well. Why are you crying!”

“Get out.” I raised my hand and pointed toward the door. “Everyone get out.”

I needed to think clearly. None of this should be like this; it could not be like this. There must be something wrong somewhere; there must have been a mistake. But where was the mistake? I could not figure it out. Clearly I felt something was wrong, yet my mind was a complete blank. I could think of nothing else — my heart was filled entirely with Xiao Qi, Xiao Qi, Xiao Qi… How could you have met with disaster? You promised me you would come back safely — promised you would return before the children learned to call out their first “Baba.”

The figures before me grew hazy and indistinct; I was nearly unable to see them clearly. I gripped the edge of the table and forced myself to stand steady.

“Given what has happened, I implore Your Highness to accept the loss with composure!” Song Huai’an’s eyes were red; he stepped forward, reaching out to support me.

“Silence!” I bit my lip hard, snatched up the teacup from the table and flung it at him. He tilted his head and it flew past him, shattering against the doorframe.

He stood there, then bowed his head and retreated without a word.

Nanny Xu knelt down, pleading with me to take care of my health.

Suddenly a wail rang out — Xiaoxiao had been startled awake; right after that, Che’er began to cry loudly as well.

I shuddered and ran into the inner room. One look at the two children, and all the strength in my body seemed to drain away at once. I collapsed, soft and boneless, beside the cradle, without even the strength to hold them. Nanny Xu came in after me and quickly took Xiaoxiao into her arms, while reaching out to pat and soothe Che’er. I stared fixedly at her, stared at the two children, yet could do nothing — and suddenly I was swamped by despair. A handmaid came in and carried the two children out; Nanny Xu, eyes wet with tears, drew me close. “My poor A’Wu…”

I let her hold me as she wept; I myself had not a single tear. My whole being had gone hollow. Xiao Qi, how could you do this… In my last letter I was still rambling on — Xiaoxiao is very clever, she is already picking up words; it probably won’t be long before she learns to say “Baba.” Though I never wrote a single word urging you to hurry back, was there a single line in those letters that was not filled with longing and tender longing?

Xiao Qi, could you not see what was in my heart, could you not see my worry for you?

I paused. Something flashed through my mind, striking my heart with a sudden jolt.

The sealed letter — it was the sealed letter.

I shuddered, and in an instant a hundred thoughts turned in my mind. I slowly pushed Nanny Xu away. “Go out. I am fine. Leave me alone to think.”

Nanny Xu stared for a moment, then rose unsteadily, bent with age, and withdrew. Song Huai’an and all the others outside had retreated completely.

I pressed my hand to my temple; my mind was in turmoil. Something of the utmost importance was pulsing, as though about to leap out from within, yet I could not grasp it.

The sealed dispatch mentioned that Xiao Qi, upon learning of the Hu clan’s treasonous intentions, had ordered Hu Guanglie placed under arrest and charged with graft and corruption. Yet in my sealed letter I had clearly informed Xiao Qi that the case of the Hu clan’s treason was still under interrogation and, to avoid shaking morale, had been temporarily suppressed — the verdict was not yet announced. Xiao Qi was cautious and methodical; to avoid undermining the army’s morale, he would in principle not have disclosed to the army the matter of the Hu clan’s treason — otherwise he would not have arrested Hu Guanglie on the lesser charge of graft and corruption. If that was so, then how had the author of this sealed dispatch come to know of the Hu clan’s treason? My sealed letter was also a personal letter home — it touched on private matters, and Xiao Qi would never have allowed a second person to see it. Unless the sealed letter had already fallen into someone else’s hands — or unless… Xiao Qi had done it deliberately!

I stood up and rushed to the table. The sealed dispatch still lay open under the lamp. I fixed my eyes on it and read it word by word; there was nothing out of the ordinary. I leaned close to the lamp and read it again and again — still nothing.

Outside, the faint voices of Song Huai’an and Nanny Xu drifted in; it seemed Song Huai’an wanted to come in and check on me.

In my anxious haste, I racked my brain trying to recall any past clues and hints — and then my heart gave a sudden leap. I had once devised a word-guessing game based on the Nine Palace Luo Chart, using it as entertainment and to test Xiao Qi’s eye. No matter how I changed the arrangement, he would always find it. There was only one time when I had racked my brains to create a particularly intricate layout that finally stumped him. At the time he had laughed and said: if you were a spy, no one would ever be able to crack your coded message.

My heart pounded fiercely. I recalled the arrangement and sequence from that time and pressed my finger against the text, searching through it line by line.

The first character was “there.” The second character — I searched intently, fine sweat seeping into my palm. The more anxious I was, the less I could find it — then suddenly a flash of inspiration: the character “change” leapt into my eye!

There is a change! I clapped my hand sharply over my mouth to keep myself from crying out.

I then found two more characters. Strung together, they formed exactly: “there,” “change,” “urgent,” “return.”

— It was Xiao Qi. Of course it was him — deliberately revealing a flaw within the text to put me on alert, then using this method to warn me.

In that instant, it was as if I had lived through a death and rebirth — dragged back from the bottomless abyss, returned to the mortal world, seeing the light again. The wild elation of having survived catastrophe overwhelmed every fear and shock. Whatever had happened — as long as I knew he was alive, nothing else was cause for dread.

Such secrecy, such caution — it was to guard against whom?

Who was it that, upon learning that Xiao Qi had “lost contact,” immediately believed he had met with calamity, and was impatient to confirm his death?

Outside, the sound of footsteps pressed toward the inner room. I immediately held the sealed dispatch to the candle flame; the flame leapt up and consumed the characters.

“Chancellor Song, you must not disturb Her Highness!” Nanny Xu’s voice came — already close, right at the door.

I swept my sleeve across the table, knocking over the candle stand; it ignited the books piled on the table, catching the sealed dispatch along with them in the flames.

As the door opened, both Song Huai’an and Nanny Xu were startled by the fire. The handmaids behind them burst into cries of alarm.

“Your Highness, take care!” Song Huai’an stepped forward in a single stride and pulled me away. Nanny Xu cried out and called for people to smother the fire — yet the table was covered with books and they caught flame easily, and the sealed dispatch had already been reduced to ashes long before.

Song Huai’an forcibly pulled me away, half-dragging and half-carrying me out of the inner room. I collapsed against his arm and finally burst into unrestrained sobbing.

Nanny Xu and the handmaids on every side knelt upon the floor, crying together — for a moment there was nothing but the sound of weeping.

“His Highness the Prince died for his country — his valor lives eternal. Yet the situation at this moment is critical. Your Highness must grieve with restraint and place the greater situation first!” Song Huai’an’s face was full of anguish.

I covered my face and smiled bitterly. “What greater situation is there still to speak of? If His Highness is gone, what am I fighting for?”

Nanny Xu crawled forward on her knees, tears streaming down her face. “There is still the young heir, there is still the commandery princess, there are still so many people depending on you, A’Wu…”

“Can Your Highness bear to watch the court fall into chaos, watch the foundation His Highness worked so hard all his life to build be destroyed in an instant?” Song Huai’an gripped my shoulders.

I looked up and fixed my gaze on him — on this familiar face, every line and angle of which was written through with “loyalty and righteousness.” For a fleeting instant I felt something blur.

“With His Highness the Prince gone, the military and court are like a dragon without a head; the generals will compete among themselves, and great upheaval could erupt at any moment.” His face was full of concerned anguish; his voice carried a note of sorrow. “Your Highness must make plans at once. Huai’an is willing to pledge to the death to protect Your Highness and the young heir!”

I closed my eyes in despair, then suddenly knelt at length before him.

He was startled and immediately knelt as well. “Your Highness — what are you doing?”

I raised tear-filled eyes and looked at him with deep distress.

He opened his mouth, stunned for a moment, unable to speak.

“Huai’an, the only person I can entrust things to now is you.” My body trembled; tears rolled down.

His expression shifted; he stared directly at me, and at last let out a long sigh and kowtowed deeply. “Huai’an pledges to follow unto death!”

I said with bitter sorrow, “In the military today, the only one whose prestige and ability command the respect of all is you.”

He said with some hesitation, “Though that is so, commanding the six armies is no easy matter. Unless one holds His Highness’s military tally…”

I bowed my head, and my heart turned to complete ice. The last sliver of hopeful doubt was extinguished.

Huai’an, it really is you.

My heart had reached the uttermost depths of desolation — and from that very depth, strangely, not a trace of hatred or rage arose.

Xiao Qi’s military tally was made in two halves. One half he kept himself; the other was hidden in my possession.

This was the most important thing Xiao Qi had left with me before setting out on campaign.

In name, this military tally could be used to command all the troops under heaven; yet in practical terms, the forces I could command were only the fifteen hundred thousand garrison troops stationed near the capital.

At the time I had even joked with him — I was a woman, with no military position; even with the military tally in hand, I could not command the armies of all under heaven.

Yet if this military tally were to fall into Song Huai’an’s hands, its power would be incomparably greater.

He was already First Minister of the Right, and had served in the military for many years with a weighty reputation. Now that both Hu and Tang were gone, with Xiao Qi dead, he would naturally stand supreme and unchallenged.

Once the military tally was in hand, he could naturally and justifiably take control of military power, and furthermore hold the Son of Heaven hostage to command the feudal lords — supplanting Xiao Qi in his place.