Pi Han Jin – Chapter 95

Day came once more. Morning light filtered through the windows. The glazed roof tiles of Ziwei Palace glittered in the light of the newly risen sun.

Mu Fulan sat before the mirror. A’Ru stood behind her, combing out her long hair.

“Mistress, your hair is so beautiful — it is like the spring waters of our Lake Dongting, so smooth, so bright…”

The young girl combed her hair and praised her with heartfelt admiration in a soft voice.

Mu Fulan gazed at herself in the mirror — black hair, snow-white complexion — and in a daze, suddenly thought of herself at sixteen, ten years ago.

She remembered it was also such a morning as this. She had been married less than a year at the time. That young and ambitious husband of hers had left her on their wedding night and had not returned for a long time. And she had just awakened from a nightmare.

It was that nightmare that had changed everything.

At that time, she had thought of nothing but leaving the man who had brought all these misfortunes upon her. She had wanted to return to the Kingdom of Changsha that had given her life and raised her, to live out this new life of hers in peace — how could she ever have imagined that ten years later, she would find herself in the imperial palace, revered by all as Empress Dowager?

Three months ago, the young Emperor — who had long prepared and personally planned it — launched a southward campaign to pacify the court of the Prince of Qi, and achieved a great victory. That small court which had lingered in the south for several years after the founding of Great Cheng was no more. Zhao Xitai, cornered by the pursuing forces, threw himself into the sea and drowned. A few days before, the army had returned in triumph. The young Emperor, with all civil and military officials in attendance, walked twenty li out of the city to receive them.

The founding Emperor of Great Cheng, Xie Changgeng, had personally led his campaign abroad and unfortunately suffered a relapse of old wounds during the expedition. Half a year later, he had died in his prime. Subsequently, the Crown Prince had ascended the throne under the regency of the Empress and several senior officials. Over these two years, he had proved not only clever and capable in governance but also remarkably diligent — earning universal admiration. Each day, besides attending to affairs of state, he rose at the fifth watch of the morning, and, as he had done since childhood, practiced swordsmanship and read his books, never missing a day regardless of weather.

Now the realm was at peace and unified under one rule. The young Emperor’s prestige had grown greatly with this southern campaign, and he was nearly fourteen — old enough to assume personal rule.

Just yesterday, the Empress Dowager had relinquished her regency. Before the assembled civil and military officials, she had personally placed the jade seal — which she had held in custody until now — into the young Emperor’s hands.

“Empress Dowager, His Majesty has come —”

Accompanied by what sounded like a somewhat hurried set of footsteps, a palace attendant’s announcement followed.

A’Ru’s hand paused mid-stroke. Her cheeks quietly reddened, and she hastily set down the comb and slipped away.

Mu Fulan watched her slender retreating figure as she withdrew with shy haste, and a trace of amusement showed in her eyes.

Everyone knew that the young Emperor and the commandery princess A’Ru had grown up together since childhood, the closest of companions. Now that the young Emperor had assumed personal rule, once the mourning period for the late Emperor was complete, the two would be wed.

“Mother!”

A young boy in imperial robes came rushing into the hall from outside. He strode quickly to her side and dropped to both knees with a thud, kneeling before her.

“Mother, is it true? Are you truly leaving?”

The young boy stared up at her, his expression filled with astonishment and disbelief.

Mu Fulan dismissed everyone around them.

“Yes. In a few days, I will be returning to Lake Dongting.” She said.

The young boy gripped Mu Fulan’s sleeve tightly. “But why would Mother suddenly want to leave, out of nowhere?”

“Xi’er, Mother has long wanted to go back. In the past there was no getting free. Now that you have assumed personal rule, I am very at ease where you are concerned.”

“It is time for me to go back.”

The young boy stared at her blankly. After a moment, the fingers clutching Mu Fulan’s sleeve slowly released.

“Mother…” he said quietly, “though your son wishes to see Mother’s face morning and evening — if Mother no longer wishes to be confined here and wants to return to Dongting, your son will not stand in the way.”

As he said this, his eyes slowly grew red at the rims.

Mu Fulan smiled gently: “Mother grew up there since childhood. Going back now will be like a fish returning to water. You need not worry about me. Besides, Mother is not leaving forever — when it is time for your wedding, Mother will of course come back.”

“Mother!” The young boy pressed his forehead to the ground before her in a deep bow, and for a long while did not rise.

Mu Fulan helped him up, and gazed for a long moment at the face before her — increasingly resembling that other person with each passing day. Then she considered for a moment and said: “When I go, I would like to take someone with me.”

“Mother, just say the word!” The young boy nodded. “Who is it?”

Mu Fulan spoke a name.

The young boy was startled.

The person in question was the Deputy Commander of the Upper Capital’s Imperial Guard — taciturn by nature in daily life, missing the thumb on his left hand. The story went that in his early years following the late Emperor, he had severed it himself as a form of self-imposed penance for some transgression, though the nature of that transgression was unknown. But owing to his considerable skill and unwavering loyalty, over these past two years he had not only carried out his duties guarding the imperial quarters but also taken charge of the training and instruction of the Imperial Guard.

“I have already asked him. He has agreed of his own accord to accompany me to Dongting.”

Though he did not understand why his mother would wish to take this man named Zhu Liuhu with her, she had already asked — how could the young boy refuse? He agreed at once: “Your son understands. I will have him prepare to accompany Mother today.”

Mu Fulan smiled: “There is nothing more, then. You have just assumed personal rule and have many matters to attend to. Go on and see to your affairs — there is no need to linger here on my account.”

The young boy rose to go. Mu Fulan watched his retreating figure. Seeing him just about to step out of the hall, he suddenly stopped and turned back around.

“Mother! Your son…”

He started to speak, then abruptly stopped himself.

“Xi’er, do you still have something you wish to say?” Mu Fulan noticed he seemed to have more to tell her, and asked.

“No, nothing…”

He hesitated for a moment, then in the end slowly shook his head.

“Your son wants to say — Mother, may you have joy and contentment all your days. If that is so, there is nothing more your son could ask for in this life.”

As he spoke, he turned back to face Mu Fulan and knelt before her once more with solemn reverence, his voice thick with emotion.

……

That year, the young Empress Dowager of the Great Cheng dynasty — just twenty-six years of age — partly for the sake of her health, and partly to avoid giving others cause to criticize her for treading the path of the former Regent Empress Dowager Liu by interfering in governance, quietly departed the Upper Capital after returning the reins of power to the young Emperor, and in the last days of spring, she made her way back to Dongting.

She traveled southward and returned to Yuezhou. After settling in, the first thing she did was go to the ancestral temple to pay her respects to the forebears of the Mu clan, and to those she had lost over the years — her parents, her elder brother and his wife.

Leaving the ancestral temple, she boarded a plain carriage, passed through the bustling, familiar streets of the city she knew as well as the back of her hand, and made her way to the medicine cottage on Junshan Island. She arrived at the ferry landing, boarded a boat, and summoned Zhu Liuhu — who had been traveling with her in the capacity of guard — and said: “If you had stayed in the Upper Capital, your prospects would have been bright. Coming here with me, for the rest of your days you may only live in obscurity. Are you truly certain you will have no regrets?”

“If you have any regrets now, it is not too late. Tell me honestly, and you may go back — I will have His Majesty restore your previous post.”

Zhu Liuhu did not even pause to think. He slowly knelt before her.

“It was only through the late Emperor’s mercy that Zhu Liuhu survived in this world. I am a man of no account — what virtue or ability do I possess to have merited the Empress Dowager’s regard all this time? Zhu Liuhu is filled with deepest gratitude. To be permitted to accompany the Empress Dowager here is my good fortune. I will never regret it!”

Mu Fulan smiled, and nodded.

“She was originally a palace instructress — clever and sharp-minded. I once sent her to be with you. To this day she does not know that your name is Zhu Liuhu, rather than Zhu Liu, which is what you told her back then. But I was told by my Nanny Mu that she has never forgotten you. All these years, she has in all likelihood been waiting for you. I noticed that you too, all these years, have never started a family, and so before leaving the Upper Capital, I casually put the question to you.”

She turned her head, gazing out toward the dock at the center of the lake growing closer and closer before them.

“She already knows you are coming. Look — there she is now.”

Zhu Liuhu gave a start, nearly unable to believe his ears.

He jerked his head up.

At the far edge of his vision, on the island at the heart of the lake, amid rippling blue-green waves, he made out — faintly, indistinctly — a graceful figure standing on the shore, a woman gazing into the distance as the wind set her skirts moving.

The boat drew closer and closer, his eyes opened wider and wider, and very quickly he recognized her.

The person on the shore — who else could it be but that woman who still haunted his waking thoughts and his dreams?

Over all these years, in the quiet of every deep night, he had dreamed the same dream countless times — of a peddler carrying a shoulder pole, making his way through the lanes and alleys of Yuezhou, and of his woman by his side. Yet every time he woke, he had never once dared to imagine that there would come a day in his lifetime when he might see her again.

He stood and stared.

The boat gradually approached the shore. The woman seemed to see him as well. She stepped forward, running toward him — then after a few steps abruptly stopped, and stood there transfixed, gazing at him.

This ordinarily silent and mountain-still man could wait no longer for the boat to be properly moored. His eyes blazed with light. He gave Mu Fulan a deep and solemn bow, then sprang up with a single leap, waded into the water, and went racing toward the shore toward the woman who stood gazing at him, her face already bathed in tears.

Nanny Mu had grown gradually older, and her health was not what it once was. Over the past several years she had not followed Mu Fulan into the palace, and had been living out her days quietly at the medicine cottage.

She stood nearby with A’Mao — who had left the palace two years prior and come here — and watched this pair reunited after so many years. Her eyes could not help but grow moist.

“Nanny Mu, how does he know my Hua Niang auntie? What is his relationship with her?”

“Goodness gracious! What is he doing!”

A’Mao watched with astonishment as the man came wading ashore and immediately seized Hua Niang auntie’s hand and refused to let go, clapping her hands over her eyes — then, unable to resist her curiosity, parting her fingers just a crack to steal a look.

Nanny Mu wiped her eyes, turned, and walked forward quickly, wrapping her arms tightly around the one she had not seen for so many years. She stroked her smooth, silken hair — unchanged from before — and with a trembling voice called her “Wengzhu,” as though she were still the same guileless and innocent young princess of the Kingdom of Changsha, a girl awaiting her marriage.

That word — Wengzhu — felt like a lifetime ago.

Mu Fulan closed her eyes, letting Nanny Mu hold her, pressing her face into her embrace without moving.

After a long while, she opened her eyes, and said softly with a smile:

“Nanny Mu, I am home.”

Pi Han Jin – Chapter 92

Even long after a great deal of time had passed, whenever Mu Fulan closed her eyes, the same image would rise up again and again in her mind:

The man, seemingly afraid she would refuse him on the spot, did not wait for her to speak. He climbed out of the carriage and rode away, turning back the way he had come.

On that autumn night, above the Western Pass, the sky was like an upturned Lake Dongting, vast and profound. The Milky Way stretched bright and cold, scattered stars crossed its arc, and the moon was white as frost. That retreating figure grew smaller and smaller in the moonlight, until it became a dark speck and finally dissolved entirely into the hazy depths of the night.

He passed through the Western Pass. She returned to the palace.

It was as though nothing had happened at all. Every day she assisted the Crown Prince in handling affairs of state, deliberating on policy and administration, fulfilling her duty as regent with perfection. Just as the ministers marveled at the sharpness and decisiveness that the Crown Prince had come to display far beyond his years, so too did they heap praise upon the Empress.

Yet no one knew that as the days passed one by one, beneath her seemingly calm exterior, her confusion, bewilderment, and even dread were growing heavier with each day — until this particular day, when the court received another dispatch of good news from Hexi: His Majesty the Emperor had personally led the campaign, military morale had been greatly bolstered, and the battles had been won one after another. It would not be long before the northern frontier was pacified and His Majesty returned in triumph.

This day was already half a year since Mu Fulan had parted from that man at the Western Pass. The calendar had turned to the second year of Yuanan.

Such glad news naturally sent the entire court into jubilation. But that night, Mu Fulan once again could not sleep.

He was coming back.

Yet she still did not know — if they met again, when he raised once more what had been said that night at the Western Pass, how was she to answer?

She felt she had thought it through clearly. Even that very night, she had already made up her mind.

She would tell him: she could let go of everything, hatred included — but she had no intention of renewing what they once had between them.

Of this she had once been so certain. But as time passed, and the news of his return grew ever more frequent and ever more clear, for reasons she could not quite grasp, she seemed to be growing muddled — even anxious.

And on this very day, that feeling, which had been tormenting her without cease, reached its peak.

She dismissed all the palace attendants, lit no lamp, and alone in the vast, deep bedchamber of the Ziwei Palace, drifted like a ghost, pacing endlessly back and forth.

When she grew tired of walking, she would lie down, and naturally drift off to sleep — this had gradually become her late-night habit over the past half year.

Tonight was no different. She wanted to fall asleep early.

But unfortunately, this method suddenly stopped working.

She wandered through the darkness for a long while and still felt not the slightest drowsiness. Her heart grew increasingly restless. At last she ceased walking and sat down, settling in the main hall by the south-facing window, gazing out at the blurry shadow of the magnolia tree in the night, slowly falling into a trance.

“Mother, what is wrong? Do you have something on your mind?”

At that moment, from behind her came the soft sound of a voice asking.

Mu Fulan turned her head. She saw Xi’er holding a candle, walking slowly toward her.

Mu Fulan quickly rose and went to meet him, without answering his question, and only asked: “It is so late — why are you not yet asleep?”

Xi’er stopped. “Mother, I have noticed that these past few days you seem to have something weighing on you. I heard from the palace attendants that you cannot sleep well at night. Mother, what is wrong?”

Mu Fulan looked at Xi’er before her.

He was growing quickly taller, his build and outline carrying the particular slenderness of a youth.

As she looked at him, in his features, she seemed to faintly glimpse the shadow of that white-clad young man who, years ago, had harbored ten years of resentment and solitary bitterness, and in the end drew his sword and took his own life.

Her heart grew even more unsettled.

She stood before this young boy for a long moment in silence, then said quietly: “Xi’er, let Mother ask you something — would that be all right?”

Xi’er nodded. “Mother, go ahead.”

“Mother will tell you a story first.”

Mu Fulan took the young boy’s hand and led him to sit down. Mother and son sat side by side.

“A long time ago, there was a father who harmed his child. The child could not dissolve the hatred he felt for his father, and in the end chose to take his own life before his father’s very eyes. Before he died, he swore an oath to his father, saying he hated him, and that in the next life he would never wish to be his son again.”

Mu Fulan closed her eyes briefly.

Xi’er listened quietly, without a word.

Mu Fulan steadied her emotions as best she could and continued: “Later, the child was reborn into the world, but he had forgotten everything from before. And his father, in this lifetime, also loved this child dearly. When he learned of what had happened in the past, he was overwhelmed with remorse, and did everything in his power to give this child all that he could, hoping to be forgiven.”

“Xi’er, Mother wants to ask you — if you were in this situation, would you forgive this father?”

Having asked the question, her fingers unconsciously tightened slightly, as she looked at the small young boy sitting beside her.

Xi’er said: “Mother, if I were that child — if I did not know, so be it. But if I did know what happened before, I would not forgive him. No matter what the father did to make amends in this lifetime, even if he gave his life, it could not cancel out what he did in the past. Wrong is wrong. It does not deserve to be forgiven.”

His tone was utterly firm.

Mu Fulan, holding his hand, let her fingers slowly loosen.

“Xi’er, let Mother ask you one more thing — if this father were your imperial father, would you still refuse to forgive him?”

She asked, her voice very low.

A gust of night wind suddenly surged in through the window, extinguishing the candle.

The hall once more fell into deep darkness.

In the boundless dark of the night, the young boy was silent. At last, he slowly shook his head.

“Mother, even if this father were my imperial father, I think… I still could not forgive him.”

Mu Fulan sat quietly in the darkness for a long while. Then, slowly, she tightened her grip once more on the small young boy’s hand beside her.

“Mother understands now. Come, let Mother walk you to bed.”

She said, her voice warm and calm.

“Mother, I can go back to sleep by myself. Mother has worked so hard — let your son escort you to rest.”

He stood up, walked to the extinguished candle, re-lit it, held it in one hand, and walked back to her. Like a little adult, he extended his other hand and held hers, leading her inside.

Mu Fulan was walked back to her bedchamber by the young boy.

“Mother, don’t let your thoughts run away with you. Get some good sleep.”

The young boy’s voice was infinitely gentle, coaxing Mu Fulan along.

Mu Fulan smiled and nodded, watching him turn and leave.

He walked a few steps, then suddenly, as though remembering something, stopped and turned back around.

“Mother, your son also has one thing to request of you, and I hope you will agree.”

“Say it.”

“The good news from Hexi arrived today, did it not?” he said, his eyes sparkling with a joyful light.

“Imperial Father has worked so hard, putting himself through great toil for the sake of the realm. When he returns in triumph, your son would like to go out of the capital personally to welcome him. I ask for Mother’s permission.”

Mu Fulan hesitated.

The young boy dropped to his knees.

“Your son truly wants to go personally to welcome Imperial Father’s return. Please, Mother, grant this!”

Mu Fulan looked at the young boy’s face before her, full of eager expectation. She pondered for a moment, and at last nodded: “Very well. When the time comes, we will arrange things according to the circumstances.”

The young boy’s face broke into a look of delight. He kowtowed to thank her and then withdrew.

He stepped out of the main hall of Ziwei Palace, but did not immediately return to the side hall where he lived. He stood on the palace steps outside the hall, lost in thought for a moment, then went to the palace gate and ordered the attendants on night watch to open the doors.

He walked out, wandering alone through the deep-night palace. Several palace attendants followed behind him, daring neither to press too close nor to fall too far back. They followed the Crown Prince until at last they arrived at the Imperial Stables. They watched him stop before the door of a particular stable.

Inside this stable was tethered the Crown Prince’s horse, Little Dragon Horse.

Little Dragon Horse was a Hexi horse, and was nothing exceptional in terms of bloodlines or rarity. In the Crown Prince’s stables stood several other horses gifted as tribute from distant lands — some capable of covering a thousand li in a day, others swift as lightning. But the horse the Crown Prince loved best was still this Hexi horse. He frequently fed it himself and washed it with his own hands, and everyone in the palace knew this.

The attendants, seeing that he could not sleep in the deep of night and had come to this place, were puzzled — but could only wait at a distance.

The young boy opened the stable door and went inside. Cupping both hands together, he picked up a handful of grain and held it to Little Dragon Horse’s mouth.

After feeding the horse, he picked up a grooming brush and carefully combed through its mane.

Little Dragon Horse turned its head affectionately, stuck out its tongue, and licked his hand.

The young boy let out a few low, soft laughs.

He patted Little Dragon Horse’s head fondly, pressed close to its ear, and whispered: “Let me tell you — Mother agreed to my request. In a little while, you will come with me, and together, the two of us will go and do one more thing.”

When he finished speaking, he slowly straightened up and turned his head, gazing out toward the northwestern sky beyond the Upper Capital.

His gaze seemed to pierce through the boundless night and reach toward somewhere a thousand li away.

A thousand li away: the Great Cheng Emperor Xie Changgeng had led his forces in a personal campaign. Half a year later, in the second year of Yuanan, the northern frontier was pacified, and Hexi was secured.

As was customary, a portion of the army remained stationed there. The rest would return with him to the capital.

On the eve of their departure, the old chieftain of the local people held a banquet to see them off in honor. The Emperor celebrated with the people, and the feast did not conclude until deep into the night. The place where the imperial party rested was the former office of the Military Commissioner — the very residence where he had lived back when he was Military Commissioner of Hexi.

Everything here remained just as it had been in those days.

He stepped through the gate of this compound he knew so well, passed around the spirit wall, crossed the courtyard paved with green flagstones, and lay down to sleep in that old bedchamber.

That night, he had not touched a drop of wine — yet he seemed intoxicated nonetheless, as though time were flowing in reverse, and he found himself back in those years long past, when she was still here, sharing this room with him.

So many years had passed, yet this room still seemed to hold a trace of the fragrance she had left behind.

He drew a deep breath, and slowly closed his eyes. In the drift between waking and sleep, he suddenly felt himself transported to a mountainside — birdsong melodious around him, light dancing on water, surrounded on all sides by water, an island like a leaf floating upon it. With a start of realization, he understood he had wandered in his dreams all the way to Junshan Island on Lake Dongting.

“Hey! Stop right there!”

From behind him came the sound of a bright, crisp young girl’s voice.

He turned his head and saw a cliff, an old cypress tree, and a small young girl — beautiful, with hair like clouds and a face like a flower — lifting her skirts and running toward him.

He froze, his heart pounding fiercely. Coming to his senses, he immediately turned and went toward her.

At that very moment, mist suddenly rose up before him. She was on one side; he was on the other. No matter how he pursued, he could not find the path that led to her side. Just as he was turning in bewilderment, burning with anxiety, the mist before him slowly dissolved.

He could finally see clearly — she was in the center of the lake, like an immortal beauty in the moonlight, sculling a boat toward him.

Without a thought, he flung his arms out and swam toward her with all his strength. She sat at the prow of the boat, smiling a full, bright smile, as though laughing at his foolishness. He swam to her side, pulled himself up over the gunwale, and at last lay down beside her, at the hem of her skirt.

In the center of the lake, the night breeze rippled gently, the small boat rising and dipping softly. She sat quietly beside him, her face like a lotus bloom, her garments like drifting cloud.

Moonlight poured down like water, as though it had washed even the dream clean — moist, yet perfectly clear.

Xie Changgeng knew that in this moment, the dreaming man thought only one thing.

He thought: if the rest of his life could be like this, leaving him foolish with her laughter, what more could a man ask for?

His eyelashes stirred slightly. A moment later, he slowly opened his eyes, turned his head, and looked at the figure standing inside the room.

“Xi’er, have you come to welcome Imperial Father home?” he asked.

“I came to tell you that governance is stable and I am ready to rule myself. You need not return.”

The young boy answered him. His tone was calm, as though speaking of the most ordinary of matters.

Pi Han Jin – Chapter 93

All around was silence.

After a long while, Xie Changgeng slowly sat up.

“Then you know everything?” he said.

“Since when?” Apart from his voice being low, his tone contained surprisingly little shock.

The young boy did not answer at first. He only untied the sword at his waist.

“When your guards saw me just now, they recognized that this sword at my side came from Your Majesty, so they did not ask me to remove it. They allowed me to enter with it.”

As he spoke, he held one hand flat in front of him and with the other grasped the hilt, slowly drawing the blade. Cold light flashed.

“Do you know what the one thing is that you should never have done in this lifetime?”

He lightly ran his finger along the edge of the blade. The skin split at once under the keen edge, and blood spread like a halo, slowly diffusing along the stretch of blade his finger had touched. In the candlelight, it shimmered with a strange and sinister gleam.

Yet the young boy seemed to feel nothing at all. He let the blood from his finger flow into the fuller of the blade, pool, and then overflow, trailing along the edge — dripping, one drop at a time.

“The one thing you should never have done was what you did that year, when Mother was taking me away from Guzang — when you rode out beyond the city gates and gave me this sword.” He said.

“How I wish you had never given it to me. Or that I had listened to my mother that day and not accepted it. Even if I had accepted it — had I simply never touched it afterward, that would have been better too…”

The young boy’s expression was bleak.

“Had that been so, I would never have known, in this lifetime, that you are my father. But in my heart, you would always have been that Lord Xie — the man I respected and admired. I would have held you in even greater regard than a father.”

“But there are no ‘what ifs’…”

He hurled the sword — the one now stained with his blood — violently to one side, so that it landed beside Xie Changgeng.

“You were right just now. I remembered everything a very long time ago. Do you know why I was determined to become Crown Prince — even though I could plainly see that my mother was unwilling, when you first came seeking me?”

“The reason I did so was entirely because of you. Because you were going to be Emperor, I was determined to be Crown Prince as well!”

“On what grounds do you seek my mother’s forgiveness? Do you believe that by making my mother the most exalted woman under heaven, by making me Crown Prince, by living out your days in peace and then passing this realm down to me — that the harm you caused can be written off, and your conscience can be at ease?”

“Truly — I do not hate you for my own sake. In a previous life I chose to die; that was my own choice. What does it have to do with you? It is for my mother that I think it unjust. When I remembered everything, I finally understood — while neither you nor I knew, she alone remembered every last thing that happened before. She should not have needed to be so magnanimous, swallowing all her pain herself, to accommodate you. And you — after everything you did to my mother — on what grounds, in this lifetime, do you still get to have everything go your way, not only becoming Emperor, but even daring to seek my mother’s heart again?”

The young boy gave a laugh.

“How could I allow you to have your wish? I could not wait until I was grown to strip you of everything — that would take too long, and it would be far too easy on you. So when you came to Yuezhou, I went outside the city to see you. I told you to go to Huguo Temple. I knew that once I spoke, you would certainly go. Once there — if you still could not remember anything, then I would accept it as Heaven’s grace to you. Fortunately, Heaven still had eyes in the end, and did not allow only my mother to suffer alone.”

The young boy’s expression grew increasingly agitated.

He said: “That is right. I wanted you to see clearly what kind of person you truly are, lest you think yourself so magnanimous, as though it is my mother who has wronged you. I also wanted you to know that you do not deserve my mother’s forgiveness — and you even less deserve her feelings. If you do not disappear, my mother will never know peace for the rest of her life. Every time she sees you, she will remember all the pain she endured. If you have even half a conscience left, you should never let yourself appear before her again!”

The young boy said all of this in nearly one breath, then stopped. His chest rose and fell with rapid breathing.

Xie Changgeng had been gazing at him all along, utterly motionless.

“Then what am I to do? Is death the only way to bring this to an end?” At last he spoke, his voice strained and heavy.

The young boy’s gaze flickered briefly over the sword lying beside him.

“Your guard is just outside, not far off.”

“I may as well tell you plainly: I have a squad of warriors who are completely loyal to me alone. Their devotion and courage are no less than those who serve you. But tonight, I did not bring them here. Right now you may call your men in, charge me with treason, and have me killed on the spot. I would not offer even the slightest resistance. I mean every word.”

“But —”

His tone shifted sharply, his voice turning cold and hard.

“If you do not have me killed, you have no other choice left.”

“And you need not die either. Compared to the suffering my mother endured — if you were to die so easily, don’t you think that would be letting yourself off far too lightly?”

He paused, fell silent, as though sinking into some distant memory, and finally spoke again.

He said: “Many years ago, you brought me — still very small — through great hardship to Tianshan Mountain to fetch my mother. At the end of that long, snow-covered road, at the foot of Tianshan, there was a solitary city called Jincheng. There, you made me a promise: that you would one day guard that place well, no matter how remote or desolate it might be.”

“I do not know whether you have forgotten what you said that day. I have never forgotten it. Now is the time for you to fulfill your promise. That is where your place is.”

“How one disappears from this world — you should know better than I. Rest assured: after you are gone, I will govern this realm in your place. The ministers, I will command and direct. The people, I will guide and nurture. That small court still clinging to life — I will personally extinguish it. And you will be recorded in the histories by the court chroniclers as the founding Emperor, a ruler of great achievement. I will also write for your memorial tribute the most laudatory posthumous title I can conceive — just as you once did for my mother.”

He sat down on the ground, gazing at the man across from him.

“I await your choice.”

“Either I die, and you continue as Emperor.”

“Or you disappear from this world entirely. Only then will my mother’s suffering truly come to an end.”

……

At the fourth watch of the night — in the darkest hour before dawn — a slender young boy’s figure slipped out through a small side door of the residence, silently and without a sound.

His close attendant, waiting in the shadows, hurried forward, leading the horse to meet him. The boy looked at his mount and stopped walking. The horse too paused where it stood, then turned its head and nuzzled his arm affectionately. The young boy suddenly threw both arms around the horse’s neck, pressing his face against it. At first he was perfectly still; then after a moment, his shoulders began to tremble faintly. From behind, it seemed as though he might be crying, or might be laughing — yet not a single sound escaped him. The sight of it was, in truth, rather unsettling.

The attendant dared not disturb him, and stood to one side with head bowed, hands folded in waiting. Fortunately, before long, his emotions seemed to subside. He slowly released his arms from around the horse’s neck, gave its mane a stroke, then swung himself up into the saddle and rode off swiftly.

……

On an utterly ordinary day, Mu Fulan, who had been watching and waiting anxiously in the palace of the Upper Capital for many days, received a sealed letter from Hexi.

The letter had been sent by Liang Tuan — whom she had dispatched to escort the Crown Prince on the journey — by express relay, eight hundred li a day.

Mu Fulan had not yet finished reading the letter when she froze where she stood.

She had granted Xi’er’s request and let him travel out of the capital to welcome the Emperor home in triumph. By her reckoning of the days, they should have already been on their way back by now — and yet the people she had sent out had found no trace of the Emperor’s army returning, and Hexi had gone six or seven days without sending any new dispatches. Ordinary ministers might not yet have noticed anything amiss, but among a handful of trusted senior officials such as Liu Guan, suspicion had already arisen. Over the past few days, they had come to Mu Fulan repeatedly, asking about the latest news.

Mu Fulan had maintained a calm face outwardly, but inwardly she had long since sensed something was wrong — a persistent feeling that something had happened out there a thousand li away, something she did not yet know.

She had not expected that this very day, the news would finally reach her — and that the news would be such a catastrophe.

He was gone? That man named Xie Changgeng was actually gone?

How could this be.

Yet there it was in black and white, perfectly clear. Given Liang’s position, if this had not been an established and verified fact, how could he possibly have sent a false report of the Emperor’s death?

In his sealed letter, he said: His Majesty the Emperor had led the campaign personally, achieved a great victory, and had been preparing to return to the capital in triumph in recent days. Before departing, he made one last light-armed inspection of the frontier. On his way back from this circuit, he encountered a summer flash flood.

The flood came without the slightest warning. It was like the earth shaking, the mountains trembling, the sun and moon going dark. The surging water demolished the road in an instant. The Emperor’s party had no time to escape. They were swept up in the current and disappeared without a trace. Everyone searched in utmost secrecy and with full effort. At last, following the channel carved out by the floodwaters, they pushed deep into the northern territory, searching as far as a lake called Huimeng.

Many years before, when the Emperor was still the Military Commissioner of Hexi, to avenge the massacre of the local Mahe Valley people, he had led three hundred light cavalry in pursuit of northern raiders who vastly outnumbered them, and had cut them down here. Now, the northern forces had long since retreated westward to avoid the main strength of the army, not a single enemy remained in sight, and this spring lake had come under Hexi’s control.

It was a living spring in the wilderness. Over countless centuries the water had accumulated into a lake — deep, broad, and vast beyond measure, said to connect at its depths to the very center of the earth. The search team spent many days dragging the lake, and in the end recovered the imperial cap that the Emperor had been wearing that day. Beyond that, there was not a single further trace.

What this meant, there was no need to say. Fortunately, though the Crown Prince was still young, he handled matters with exceptional decisiveness — a quality reminiscent of His Majesty the Emperor. He promptly came forward in place of His Majesty, stabilized morale, and arranged all necessary affairs. Mindful also of the greater situation, from the day of the incident onward, the news had been kept from all but a small number of close attendants and officials. The sealed letter had been sent first to the palace, to await the Empress’s final determination.

Mu Fulan’s eyes flew wide open. She stared fixedly at the letter in her hands, unable to believe what she saw.

Her heart slammed against her chest with violent force. The blood surged and roared in her ears. Her two hands would not stop trembling.

That night at the Western Pass, the figure of the man riding away in the moonlight was still vivid before her eyes — and this man had died, just like that? He had vanished from this world without a trace?

Her legs went weak beneath her. She could no longer hold herself upright. Her hands scrabbled blindly at a corner of the table. She collapsed into the chair.

Pi Han Jin – Chapter 94

Early the next morning, before the sky had even fully lightened, a sealed decree from the Empress-Regent was sent out of the Upper Capital and dispatched to Hexi, relay after relay, without stopping.

Mu Fulan required Liang Tuan to do two things. First, make immediate arrangements for the Crown Prince’s return to the capital. Second, while ensuring the news would not leak, deploy every available resource and continue searching for the Emperor’s whereabouts.

Liang Tuan received the decree, summoned his trusted men, and set the arrangements in motion.

Three months later, he returned to the capital in secrecy, and Mu Fulan received him in the private hall of Ziwei Palace.

Over those three months, he had already searched every conceivable location in the surrounding area.

“I also dispatched men to search underwater many times, but the undercurrents at the bottom are treacherous, and the lake is very deep. I have failed in my ability, and failed to fulfill the Empress’s charge…”

His voice grew choked, to the point that he could not finish the sentence. He fell prostrate upon the ground.

Mu Fulan did not move, lost in thought for a long while, and then said: “General Liang, you have endured much hardship these past months. You still have important duties to carry out — go and rest first.”

Night fell. Dawn came again. Mu Fulan sat alone, passing from dusk into deep night, from deep night into dawn.

“Empress, Lord Liu and the others have arrived. They are waiting outside the palace and request to see you.”

When the wan light of early morning gradually began to color the south-facing window of the private hall, from beyond the chamber door came the faint, careful sound of a palace attendant’s announcement.

As though being pulled out from a vast dark maw that had completely engulfed her, she shuddered and slowly opened her eyes. Pressing one hand to the table for support, she steadied herself and finally stood.

She would not give up. She always felt that a man like him — how could he simply be gone like this? She had recalled Liang Tuan, but she would continue sending others to search. Until she saw his body with her own eyes, she would not stop looking.

Yet in the depths of her heart, another voice kept reminding her, without cease: that man was only a mortal being of flesh and blood. He was gone. He was truly gone.

In the months during which the Emperor had been unable to appear, she had secretly kept the Upper Capital tightly under control, and had told the anxious ministers that His Majesty had suffered a recurrence of an old wound sustained during the campaign, and that the jolting of a carriage was not advisable — which was why he had remained in Hexi to recuperate.

Such an explanation could only pacify everyone for a time. It could not hold indefinitely. To continue concealing it by force would only invite more suspicion and doubt. Once it could no longer be suppressed, instability would inevitably follow — nothing but harm and not a shred of benefit.

As Mu Fulan the person, she could tell herself he was still alive.

But as the one who held the realm in regency, she was compelled to face reality.

Her steps at first felt weightless, as though she were walking on clouds — but very quickly they grew firm.

When she walked out of the private hall, opened the doors, and appeared before the attendants in the pale light of early dawn, she seemed, apart from the bloodshot rims of her eyes and a certain pallor in her complexion, no different from any other day.

She slowly named several ministers and said: “Have them go to the Imperial Study.”

The ministers were escorted by palace attendants into the Imperial Study, where they found the Empress already within, eyes lowered, sitting composedly in a side seat behind the imperial desk.

After the formalities of greeting, Liu Guan inquired after the Emperor’s condition. He said: “All the civil and military officials, and all within and beyond the Upper Capital, have been eagerly awaiting His Majesty’s triumphant return. His Majesty’s injuries are a matter of deepest concern to all. I make bold to ask permission to travel to Hexi myself to visit His Majesty — I hope the Empress will allow it.”

Mu Fulan raised her eyes, and slowly pushed to the corner of the desk the sealed letter she had received several months before.

The several men exchanged glances, then stepped forward with a bow to take it. They had barely looked at it for a moment when they froze. A moment later, amid a chorus of “Your Majesty” and the thudding sound of knees striking the ground, one after another they fell to their knees — some kowtowing repeatedly, some prostrating themselves in tears.

“Empress… is this… confirmed?” Liu Guan asked, his voice trembling.

Mu Fulan said: “Liang Tuan returned to the capital last night. You may seek the full details from him.”

Liang Tuan was brought in. She rose and passed by the ministers who had gathered around Liang Tuan, walked out, and stood on the palace steps outside. A moment later, the sound of hurrying footsteps came from behind her.

She turned slowly, letting her gaze pass one by one over the grief-stricken faces of the civil and military officials who had rushed out and knelt behind her.

She said: “His Majesty has unfortunately passed. The Crown Prince has not yet come of age. I am merely a woman. The dynasty was newly founded not long ago and its foundations are yet shallow. You gentlemen helped His Majesty build this realm through great labor and distinguished service. You may recommend among yourselves the most capable — the Crown Prince can yield the throne to the worthy, and I will not object.”

She stood steadily, her voice calm.

Several of the men, their faces streaked with tears, were overcome with terror.

Liu Guan said: “His Majesty’s grace to us is as deep as a mountain. Even ten thousand deaths could not repay a ten-thousandth of His Majesty’s kindness. Should the Empress entertain such thoughts again, I could only give my life to demonstrate my loyalty!”

Another minister wept: “On the eve before His Majesty established the Crown Prince, his words of instruction still ring in my ears. How could I harbor even the slightest wayward thought? I am willing to pledge my life in loyalty to the Crown Prince — I beg the Empress to see clearly!”

The remaining men too kowtowed desperately, their foreheads striking the ground with loud, steady thuds.

Mu Fulan was silent for a moment, then turned her face to look at the Crown Prince, who had walked out. He stepped forward and personally helped the ministers to their feet, one by one.

“Mother says that as long as Great Cheng stands united above and below, working in concert with one another, no matter what difficulties arise, they can be safely passed through. I believe this without question. From this day forward, our Great Cheng must rely upon you, gentlemen — I offer you my bow of gratitude.”

He finished speaking, then bowed solemnly and respectfully to Liu Guan and the others.

The ministers hurriedly knelt again, pledging their loyalty and devotion to this young boy.

That night, the lanterns in the Imperial Study burned through until dawn. Liu Guan and the others gathered there, and after repeated deliberation and careful consideration, decided to continue concealing the tragedy under the pretense that the Emperor was still recovering from illness, and to do so until they had fully stabilized the situation — at which point the news would be announced, a state funeral held, and the Crown Prince formally enthroned as the new Emperor.

Mu Fulan sat quietly in a corner of the Imperial Study, her gaze drifting as she watched the young boy and his ministers at their deliberations.

When it was nearly dawn and the discussions had concluded and the ministers had withdrawn, he walked over to Mu Fulan’s side and carefully helped her to her feet.

“Mother, you are tired. Let your son walk you back to your palace to rest.”

Mu Fulan walked out of that place and, accompanied by her son, moved along the dim palace corridors, guided by the swaying light of a lantern held in an attendant’s hand, back to Ziwei Palace.

The young boy moved to escort her inside.

She stopped walking and said: “You should also go and rest. You did not sleep all night.”

The young boy looked at her and lingered, reluctant to go.

Mu Fulan smiled at him gently: “Don’t overthink things. Mother is fine. Go on — get some rest. You need not worry about me.”

The young boy slowly lowered his gaze, then suddenly dropped to his knees before her, bowed his head deeply to the ground, and rose — looking back at her again and again — and left.

Mu Fulan watched his retreating figure until it disappeared, and then her shoulders slowly caved.

She did not know how she had gotten through the days and nights of the past few months. Looking back now, it seemed she remembered only darkness giving way to light, daylight and night endlessly alternating — chaotic, exhausting, wearing her down to nothing.

She fell into bed and slept — a deep, heavy, disorienting sleep. She did not know how long she slept or when it was when she woke, but through the haze she seemed to hear a song. The song came and went, as though drifting from some dark and distant corner far away, yet as though echoing right at her ear — faint and unbroken, like thread drawn from silk.

At last, she heard it clearly.

“Without the Cold-Repelling Gold, how to win an emperor’s heart…”

“Without the Cold-Repelling Hairpin, how to win an emperor’s love…”

Her eyelashes trembled, and she slowly opened her eyes and woke. In the haze between sleep and waking, she finally remembered — many years ago, when she was still small and living in this very palace, on the night her aunt was near death, she had also seemed to faintly hear this otherworldly song drifting from the corner of the hall.

She opened her eyes wide and strained her senses in the darkness, wanting to hear it more clearly — but the song that had come with her dream broke off abruptly.

At her ear, there was only a vast and utter silence.

She slowly closed her eyes, and tears began to fall unbidden. She began to weep without a sound, her face flooded with tears.

No longer did she need to fret, day after day, as his return drew nearer and nearer, agonizing over how to answer that man when he raised the question again — all that indecision that had nearly torn her apart.

When she herself could not make up her mind, Heaven had made the decision for her.

Let it end like this. Past life, this life. Right, or wrong. Love, or no love. All of it was gone. In memory, what remained was the shadow of a figure riding away on horseback beneath the moon at the Western Pass. Or — if even that shadow could, in time, be entirely and completely forgotten, that would be even better.

In her previous life, she had hoped that man would keep her at the center of his heart.

In this life, she had hoped he would disappear from before her eyes, never to be seen again.

Heaven had shown her such great kindness — and in such a manner, the wishes of two lifetimes had both been fulfilled at once.

She could no longer hold herself back. In the boundless dark night that swallowed her like a sea, she gasped and choked, her whole body shaking without cease, weeping in a way that was entirely beyond her control.

Pi Han Jin – Chapter 95