Mu Fulan entered the dungeon and ordered the shackles removed from the spy who had been imprisoned there for nearly half a year.
Zhu Liuhu slowly opened his eyes.
A face young and beautiful; garments noble and resplendent. Her arrival seemed to make even that dim, shadowed dungeon grow bright.
He stared in a daze, unable to understand why she had come here — and even less able to understand why, on that day when he had raised his dagger to take his own life, he had been stopped. Not until he heard her say: “Do something for me.”
“Bring Xie Changgeng’s mother back to him.”
Zhu Liuhu froze. A moment later, understanding dawned, and into those two eyes — once as still and lifeless as stagnant water — there slowly came a faint flicker of something belonging to a living person.
He rose from the ground and kowtowed to the woman before him, full of gratitude.
As he straightened, he wanted to ask her how she was now — his lips parted with great difficulty, but the words were swallowed back down.
This woman had given him a chance — a chance to face his superior, to accept the punishment that was rightfully his with as much dignity as he could manage. This was already an immense act of grace. He had no right to think of anything else, and no longer any opportunity to do so.
His life no longer belonged to himself.
Now, kneeling before the woman who held power over his life and death, he bowed his head deeply to the ground, overwhelmed by shame he could not deserve to shed.
“Beyond asking you to send my mother back to me — did she say nothing else?”
A cold and indifferent voice came from the man across from him. Zhu Liuhu immediately reached into his chest and produced a small ebony case with gilded corners, held it in both hands, and raised it high above his head.
“The Imperial Princess also instructed this subordinate to deliver this item.”
Xie Changgeng took the case and slowly opened it.
Inside lay what appeared to be a serpent-pommeled golden seal, split cleanly in half by some sharp instrument.
He stared at it for a long while without blinking once.
Zhu Liuhu did not dare raise his head. After waiting a moment, he said: “This subordinate has ruined the Prince of Qin’s great affairs — ten thousand deaths would not be sufficient to atone for this crime!” When he finished speaking, he took up his dagger to drive it into his own heart, when he suddenly heard the man across from him ask: “When you came out, were you aware of the state of battle between Fuzhou’s Li Liang and the Kingdom of Changsha?”
Zhu Liuhu stayed his hand and raised his head.
Xie Changgeng looked at him without expression.
When the imperial court had returned to the capital and matters had barely settled, just as Xie Changgeng was preparing to personally lead troops toward Changping Pass, the court officials had also subjected the Kingdom of Changsha — one of the chief offenders — to a storm of verbal condemnation. Though Mu Xuanqing had already died of illness on the retreat, this had done nothing to quell the court’s fury. Officials submitted memorials one after another demanding that the kingdom be crushed and pacified. Li Liang, the Governor of Fuzhou — a neighboring territory — seized the moment and stepped forward, submitting his own memorial in which he volunteered himself, claiming he was willing to spare the court the trouble and lead troops to destroy the Kingdom of Changsha.
“When this subordinate departed, Li Liang and the Kingdom of Changsha’s general Yuan Handing were engaged in battle at Yunmeng. As for the state of the battle, this subordinate does not know.”
“You and Liang Tuan have followed me the longest. You are sharp and careful, and your work has never before had a single lapse. How did you fail in your duty to this degree this time?” He heard Xie Changgeng ask again.
Zhu Liuhu was consumed with shame. Unable to meet his gaze, he lowered his voice and said: “This subordinate dares not conceal it. Two years ago, when this subordinate was first ordered to settle in Yuecheng, he met a woman who was his neighbor…”
He paused, then kowtowed deeply to the ground once more.
“It was entirely this subordinate’s own fault — blinded by desire, indulging in comfort, growing lax and negligent, forgetting his mission, until he became blind and deaf to everything around him, and ruined the Prince of Qin’s great affairs. This has nothing whatsoever to do with anyone else.”
Silence stretched on. Then he heard that cold voice ring out once more.
“In recognition of your many years of service and your past contributions, I will spare your life. In accordance with the rules, sever one finger yourself — let it serve as a lesson.”
Zhu Liuhu could scarcely believe his own ears. When comprehension came, he was overcome with tearful gratitude.
With a single stroke of the blade, he cut off the thumb of his left hand. Ignoring the blood that gushed forth like a spring, he clenched his jaw and bore the pain, kowtowing heavily toward the retreating figure of the man who had already turned away, case in hand: “This subordinate is deeply grateful to the Prince of Qin for sparing his life!”
……
Several days later, hundreds of li away in Fuzhou, the Governor of Fuzhou, Li Liang, found himself trapped in a predicament with no good way forward, unable to eat or sleep in peace.
The Kingdom of Changsha occupied a secluded corner of the south. When it was first enfeoffed to the Mu clan at the founding of the dynasty, it had amounted to little more than a few sizable towns near Yuecheng, with sparse populations and sprawling marshlands in the outlying areas. But through generations of governance under the Mu clan — draining the marshes to create farmland, implementing benevolent rule — the population had gradually flourished, fish and rice grown plentiful, and the granaries filled to abundance. Li Liang had long coveted these lands. Taking advantage of the kingdom’s military weakness and poor equipment, he had previously seized upon a time of chaos to send troops and attack, hoping to seize territory. To his surprise, the enemy had produced out of nowhere a force equipped with formidable weapons, and he had been defeated. His heart, however, had remained bitterly unsatisfied. This time, seeing that the Kingdom of Changsha had failed in following Prince Qi’s rebellion, had also lost its king, and appeared to be crumbling from within — with hearts and loyalties scattering — he had rejoiced, convinced that his opportunity had come again. He submitted a memorial to the court: one part to demonstrate his loyalty to Xie Changgeng, one part to procure provisions and pay for his troops, and then he had swept in once more.
After all, with the Emperor far away, so long as he could win and take Yuecheng, he could fish in troubled waters and gain considerable advantages.
He had not anticipated that a Kingdom of Changsha without a king would produce a regent Imperial Princess who stepped forward to lead. Far from being the scattered, leaderless rabble he had imagined, the kingdom’s army, from officers to soldiers, had instead grown more united in shared purpose and adversity than ever before, with a fighting spirit and prowess that was breathtakingly sharp.
From the moment he once again sent troops to advance on the Kingdom of Changsha’s border and press upon Yunmeng, in the span of less than a month, he had suffered three consecutive defeats, losing men and generals, in a state of utter disarray.
He was unwilling to retreat just like this. He intended to regroup and launch another attack on Yunmeng, but his subordinates had begun to grumble with growing discontent. Just yesterday, he had ordered the execution of several deserters who had been caught and dragged back, and had promised the soldiers three days of looting once the city fell — only in this way had he barely managed to stabilize the situation.
Yunmeng was only a small city, yet it had resisted every attack. The longer time dragged on, the worse it was for morale.
He was planning to launch another offensive as soon as possible. If they were defeated again this time, he feared there would be no chance to recover. Not daring to be overconfident, he remained in his camp that evening, still laying out plans with his subordinates. Two of his most capable commanders, however, had fallen into a dispute over who should lead their men as the vanguard in the assault, passing the burden back and forth to each other, until they had drawn their blades on one another.
Li Liang erupted in fury and was rebuking them at the top of his voice when someone suddenly rushed in to report that Xie Changgeng — the newly enfeoffed Prince of Qin and Military Governor of Hexi — had actually come here in person. Deeply startled, Li Liang hastily straightened his clothing and hurried out with his men to receive him.
Outside the camp gate, a contingent of riders had halted. At their head, seated high on horseback, was none other than Xie Changgeng.
Li Liang knelt to greet him and ushered him into the main tent, smiling obsequiously: “Prince of Qin, you have graced us with your presence from afar. This official was unable to come out sooner to welcome you — I beg the Prince of Qin’s forgiveness.”
Inwardly, his composure was faltering, and he did not dare ask outright what had brought him on such a long journey south. He could guess, of course — it must have something to do with this battle against the Kingdom of Changsha.
He was, naturally, aware of the history between Xie Changgeng and the Kingdom of Changsha, of how they had gone from in-laws to bitter enemies. The Mu clan had joined Prince Qi’s rebellion, causing the capital to fall briefly — surely Xie Changgeng harbored a profound hatred for everyone connected to the Mu clan.
Xie Changgeng glanced at the military maps still spread across the table. “I hear the campaign here has not been going well?”
His expression was calm, and in his voice, nothing could be discerned — neither pleasure nor displeasure.
Li Liang hastily dropped to his knees: “This official has failed the expectations of the court and the Prince of Qin! Yet it is not due to any negligence on this official’s part — no one could have anticipated that the Mu Imperial Princess would assume the regency and come here in person to oversee the battle, seducing people’s hearts and buying their loyalty, making it difficult to suppress the rebels.”
He squared his shoulders and said with great conviction: “Prince of Qin, please set your mind at ease. This is only a temporary setback! This official has already formulated plans and intended to launch another attack very soon. And now that the Prince of Qin himself has come, once the soldiers learn of it, they will surely be greatly emboldened and fight to the last!”
Having said this, he performed a solemn kowtow toward the man seated above.
Silence fell over the tent. After a long pause, a voice spoke: “Withdraw. Without my order, you are not to send troops out on your own authority again.”
“Otherwise, all offenders will be treated as insubordination.”
Xie Changgeng rose and walked out.
That night, the full moon hung in the sky above cold and expansive waters.
Xie Changgeng walked alone, pacing back and forth along the riverbank several li from the Fuzhou encampment.
He descended to the water’s edge, where jagged rocks lay strewn at his feet and the river surged in endless waves against the shore. At the limits of his vision, the river’s surface was a sheet of black.
On this deep winter night, it seemed as though nothing else existed in the world. Between heaven and earth, all that remained was the rushing water at his feet, rolling on without end.
Until, from the distance, carried on the wind, came the sound of a boatman’s chant. Far out on the river’s heart, a black-hulled vessel approached from afar.
He had made his name on these waters and knew this waterway like the back of his hand. At this stretch of the river, the current split into branches, the channel littered with subterranean rocks — treacherous to navigate by night. Yet the master of this vessel, whether driven by the profit of trade or the urgency of some journey’s end, was undeterred. He pressed on through the darkness, drifting downstream, a lone leaf of a boat, seeming to come from the heavens itself, floating along the river’s heart. When it reached the mouth of the fork ahead, several weathered boatmen who had spent their lives on these waters planted their poles against a rocky outcropping that jutted from the river’s center, called out the rhythm together, and in one united surge of strength, swung the bow around — and smoothly, the vessel turned and followed the current into the branching stream.
The boatmen’s chanting grew distant, and the sounds around him faded into silence, returning to stillness.
Xie Changgeng stood alone on the riverbank, letting the surging waves that rolled in soak the hem of his clothing.
He watched that lone vessel drift downstream with the current, slowly swallowed by the darkness, disappearing from his sight.
Following this branching stream, winding southward, one could take a shortcut into Dongting Lake.
Many years ago, on another night as deep as this one, a young man had also, with an ambition too vast and too secret to be shared with any soul, boarded such a black-hulled vessel, traveling light under the moon, and navigated these treacherous waters into Dongting.
That young man had been scheming to marry the princess of the Kingdom of Changsha.
But at the time, he had been nothing more than a river bandit. And the woman he wished to marry held a position of great nobility.
He had always sought to leave nothing to chance in whatever he undertook — let alone in a matter of such importance. After following the river’s current into Dongting, he had not gone ashore immediately but instead made his way quietly to the heart of the lake, to Junshan Island, to call upon an old acquaintance he had happened to meet once by chance in the past.
The purpose of that visit was, naturally, to learn more of what he wished to know.
The years have flashed by like a spark. The battles have flown past on horseback. These old affairs from so many years ago had long since grown dim in his memory.
But at this moment — perhaps because the riverbank was as it had always been, the moon as bright as it ever was, and that already-vanished black-hulled boat — he suddenly found that everything seemed to have happened only yesterday. He even remembered a small, incidental thing that had occurred when he was descending the mountain.
It seemed he had been passing along a stretch of mountain road when he chanced upon a girl — a girl who had run toward him in helplessness, seeking his aid, because a fledgling bird had been blown off a cliff by the mountain wind.
That girl he had never thought of again…
That hazy, indistinct face surfaced from the depths of his memory. Xie Changgeng’s heart gave a sudden, faint lurch.
A strange feeling — like the tide of river water now surging toward him at his feet — welled up and flooded into his heart.
He furrowed his brows slightly, slowly closed his eyes, and strained to recall that girl, who had long since vanished utterly from his memory.
That shadowy figure gradually grew clearer.
He remembered it had been a spring day. The girl was in her early youth, at the age when apricot blossoms first bloom. Black hair, a rose-colored dress, brows like a pale crescent moon, wholly delicate and lovely, clearly raised in comfort and privilege, unacquainted with the perils of the world — little knowing that the kind-hearted stranger she had lifted her skirts to run toward was, in truth, a man of ill intent, and that in the very moment before she had called out and made him stop, he had been turning over in his mind a hidden scheme that could never be spoken aloud.
Though it came as a surprise, it was a small thing to do. He became a good man for once, did as she asked, helped to bring that little bird up from below, and returned it to its nest.
She had tilted up her young, flower-like face, her eyes bright and clear, looking at him, thanking him with a joy that was wholly unguarded.
Faced with this girl’s unrestrained, radiant smile, he had felt a touch of unease — but still he nodded to her, offered a smile in return, and then went on his way.
Xie Changgeng’s eyes flew open. He turned his head sharply and looked toward the direction of Dongting, across the water, beneath that pitch-black night sky.
He remembered.
That young girl he had encountered beneath the ancient cypress on Junshan all those years ago — if one were to take away the girlish softness of her features, she was unmistakably the same woman he had married three years later: the Princess of the Kingdom of Changsha, Mu Fulan.
The river wind roared past his ears. His heartbeat would not stop quickening, his palms drenched in hot sweat.
He thought again of what she had once said to him.
She had told him that before their betrothal was arranged, it was on Junshan that she had encountered the man she loved.
Only later, that man had died.
Once, he had believed this without question — and because of it, he had been consumed by jealousy, fury, and resentment, before eventually arriving at helpless resignation. Later still, he had ceased to care about it at all, had even been willing to humble himself before her, asking only that she treat him a little better, that she forget the man from before and see him as her true husband.
Yet she had remained unmoved, cold as iron and stone, casting him aside like a worn-out shoe.
And now, in this very moment, his instincts were whispering to him a dim and dawning understanding — that he himself must be the man from before whom she had spoken of, the one who had once held her heart.
If that was truly the case, he was clearly still alive, and had, as she had once wished, married her.
What had happened afterward — what he did not know — that had made her so ruthless, treating him with such cruelty?
To the point that even now, even as he allowed Li Liang to use military force to press her, she refused to meet with him even to negotiate!
On the riverbank, Xie Changgeng’s figure was utterly still, like a pillar of stone.
He stared fixedly at the expanse of dark sky in the distance. Gradually, his eyes grew red. A moment later, he suddenly turned, climbed up from the riverbank, and strode away at a rapid pace, his silhouette swiftly swallowed by the moonlit darkness.