Carved crimson railings, glistening azure tiles—sunlight fell through gaps in the branches, winding and turning, casting an ancient, simple golden glow. Flower shadows slanted sparsely; spring lingered briefly on willow tips outside the bedchamber, passing through the dim window frames, flickering uncertainly in the depths of her eyes.
A letter was pinched between her fingers, faintly carrying the scent of beacon fires, the ink soaking through with forceful strokes. The few words, like a ripple across a lake, silently flowed into this warm spring bedchamber.
Chu Qiao wore a moon-white gauze dress, reclining on a soft couch. A birdcage hung by the window with its door open. A snow-white bird lazily slept inside, its three red tail feathers drooping, showing none of its usual majesty.
Yue Qi said this was a snow cuckoo raised by Zhuge Yue, one of the most ferocious flying creatures, extremely fast, with sharp claws and teeth, and quite intelligent.
Chu Qiao used chopsticks to pick up a sliver of marinated meat. The bird barely opened its eyes before snatching it away, chewing twice before swallowing, then tilting its head to continue sleeping.
What a lazy bird, not making a sound all day.
Chu Qiao looked up at it, her fingers caressing the letter, a warm delight rising gently in her heart.
Though lazy, it was still quite useful.
This letter, once called correspondence, was now called a family letter.
The wedding date was approaching. In two more days, he would return.
After that, she would wear the phoenix crown and rosy cloud robe, ride in an eight-bearer sedan chair, and amid the festive sounds of drums and pipes, enter his household. From then on, she would be his rightful wife. The gold-plated betrothal card still lay under her pillow, painted with gold dust depicting mandarin ducks playing in the water, birds flying wing to wing, and auspicious flowers in full bloom. Inside, their names were written side by side.
Chu Qiao thought that perhaps she was like that snow cuckoo—her sharpness dulled, her killing intent diminished, content to live in a golden house. Even with the cage door wide open, she no longer wished to leave.
In this world, there are countless types of doors, but those that truly block one’s steps are always invisible.
He was a Sima of Da Xia, but also an enfeoffed prince, and she would marry with the ceremony of a princess. Dowry and betrothal gifts were piled in a courtyard, with mountains of pearls, jade, and treasures. The imperial tailors were making her wedding clothes and court attire, imperial rewards came one after another, and gift lists from various wealthy households were so extensive that they filled an entire hall.
She had shown unusual interest, occasionally bringing Jing Jing, Mei Xiang, and Huan’er to look through the gifts. When they came across some rare treasures, these women who had not seen much of the wealthy world would exclaim dramatically, like country bumpkins visiting the city.
Tonight she would stay in the Zhuge main residence, where the Zhuge family matriarch would prepare her pre-wedding rituals. Having no family of her own, she would stay at the Zhuge mansion before the wedding, then marry from the courtyard where she once lived into this splendid Sima mansion.
Time flowed like ripples in water, spreading outward in circles, extending far away.
After moving into the Zhuge home, she did not see the matriarch of the main branch. Accompanied by people from the Jing family, Chu Qiao kept the girl named Yu Xiao He by her side. When she occasionally became lost in thought, this girl from a modest background would quietly light some lotus incense. The fragrance was familiar, faintly reminiscent of the formula she had learned many years ago as a child in the Imperial Pharmacy.
One qian of perilla, one qian of lily, one qian of square tangerine, one qian of gold powder, two qian of withered lotus, two qian of rose foam, two qian of banana oil, two qian…
None were precious herbs, but the blend was calming and restorative, most helpful for those haunted by nightmares to get a good night’s sleep.
Two days later, a servant came to say that Zhuge Yue had returned to the city and had gone to the main branch to pay respects to his parents, but according to custom, he could not see her. When she heard the news, she was taking a bath, with hot water climbing up her smooth shoulders, warm and steamy. An attendant handed her a family letter. Her fingers were still wet, continuously dripping water, soaking the letter and blurring the ink. Through the mist, only one line was visible, written in a thin, elegant hand.
“I have returned. I will come for you in five days.”
Five days later would be their wedding day.
That night, Chu Qiao reached out to touch a vine that had withered slightly from the day’s sunshine. Her fingers bore a faint white saltiness. Water traces flowed, revealing hidden thoughts, climbing the layers of ivy tendrils.
A basin of salt water glimmered with a pale golden hue. The letter floated at the bottom, faint characters gradually surfacing—dense, tiny script meticulously writing out intricate plans.
Chu Qiao’s fingertips turned pale. The sounds of past battles echoed in her mind, like a melodious orchestral piece.
“Will you come with me, My Lady?”
Chu Qiao shook her head, smiling faintly. “I will stay here.”
He Xiao nodded, bowing respectfully: “Take care, My Lady.”
Outside the window, dewdrops fell. The night moon was round and white. Chu Qiao, gazing at the serene moonlight, murmured, “A storm is coming.”
The Zhuge family sent three noble women to dress her hair, but Chu Qiao dismissed them. Elderly women from the Jing family also volunteered, but she didn’t accept them either. In the end, on the night before the wedding, it was still Mei Xiang who was sent to her bedchamber.
The usually strong Mei Xiang’s hands trembled slightly as she helped Chu Qiao don the gold-embroidered auspicious robe with cloud patterns, bordered with golden luan bird motifs, adorned with small eight-colored designs and peony patterns, studded with eight treasures, bells, jade, white Hetian jade, and purple blood jade, with gold seals and purple ribbons, her head adorned with pearls and kingfisher feathers. Under the flickering lights, she appeared resplendent, completely magnificent.
Tears rolled from Mei Xiang’s eyes, even as her lips curved high in a smile as radiant as a cloud of smoke.
Chu Qiao reached out to wipe away her tears, then embraced this woman who had followed her for many years. The rouge on her cheeks was like September maple leaves, with a solemn glow.
“Miss.”
Mei Xiang hugged her, her voice trembling, carrying a barely suppressed sob.
“Miss, Miss…”
She could say no more, just hugging her, calling “Miss” repeatedly, then letting her tears flow freely.
Early the next morning, Chu Qiao finally welcomed her wedding day.
Bian Tang’s ceremonial officials guarded her, conducting everything according to a princess’s wedding protocol. The phoenix carriage departed from the Zhuge mansion, first going to Bian Tang’s residence in Zhenhang to receive the late Emperor Li Ce’s edict, then accepting the current Tang Emperor Li Xiu Yi’s gifts, passing through Zhuangyi Gate and Qiankun Gate. Joy resounded, pipes and drums played in unison, red gauze and splendid decorations flowed, crimson brocade was like flames, and golden foil fell like frosty snow along the route. Zhenhang sent out a large contingent of ceremonial officials to accompany the procession, and drums, and music sounded—all with the ceremony of a political marriage.
Commoners crowded around, dense as a vast mountain. Eighty bridesmaids rode in small phoenix carriages, followed by many sisters and noble women from the Zhuge family. Chu Qiao’s palms were wet with sweat. The red bridal veil blocked her vision; she could only hear the joyous sounds of gongs and drums.
Chu Qiao’s heart began to tighten as the carriage procession moved forward, gradually approaching the Sima mansion. The road was intimately familiar to her. Chu Qiao knew that barring any unforeseen circumstances, just ahead at Peacock Bridge, Bian Tang’s ceremonial officials would hand over the bridal sedan to Da Xia’s ceremonial officials, and Zhuge Yue would receive his bride on Peacock Bridge.
However, just as they reached Yue Liu Lake, the phoenix carriage suddenly halted.
Chu Qiao’s heart immediately skipped a beat. Almost simultaneously, a long, ancient bell sound suddenly came from the direction of the Sacred Golden Palace—fourteen solemn and dignified bell tolls echoing in the wide streets, five long and nine short, different from the nine long and five short imperial sounds she had heard before. The current sound seemed solemn and desolate as if a vast wind were howling through this land of luxury and brocade.
All sounds—walking, standing, gazing, busying—simultaneously ceased. The ground was silent, and even the birds in the sky seemed to stop flying. Someone was the first to react, and following closely, everyone knelt on the ground, prostrating toward the Sacred Golden Palace.
Huge wails immediately rose, coming from the direction of Ziwei Square.
Chu Qiao tore off her bridal veil and lifted the carriage curtain, and a gentle breeze blew on her temples, lightly shaking them.
Until this moment, she suddenly understood one thing.
The Emperor of Da Xia had passed away.
Da Xia’s ceremonial officials all prostrated themselves and wept, while Bian Tang’s accompanying officials stood dumbfounded, not knowing how to handle such an unexpected event.
Zhuge Huai came riding from behind, directing the procession to return with a solemn expression.
The breeze blew through the carriage curtain. Chu Qiao gazed into the distance at Peacock Bridge spanning the azure lake, her heart as chaotic as tidal waters, rolling in wave after wave. As the carriage procession moved away, Peacock Bridge gradually became a smoke-shrouded stone pier, hidden by layers of red flowers and green willows, no longer visible.
Chu Qiao suddenly felt anxious, momentarily disoriented, as if she had returned to that winter day at Ten Thousand Zhang Lake, the two of them growing more distant, eventually covered by vast snow, boundless and desolate.
She grabbed her skirt and pushed open the phoenix carriage door.
“Your Highness!”
A pair of thin hands suddenly gripped her tightly. Yu Xiao He looked at Chu Qiao in shock as she was about to jump from the carriage and cried out in panic, “Where is Your Highness going?”
Just then, a man ahead turned his head—his slender eyes like cold, still deep pools, bearing a slight resemblance to Zhuge Yue. It was Zhuge Yue’s elder brother, Zhuge Huai.
Chu Qiao’s movements gradually froze. Facing thousands of armored soldiers, she slowly closed the carriage door and then leaned back in her seat, silent.
Chu Qiao was taken back to the Bian Tang embassy. For an entire day, she sat in her room without taking a single step outside. In the evening, Ping An reported that troops were moving frequently outside the city. The Sacred Golden Palace had not yet announced the cause of the Emperor’s death. Citizens were hiding in their homes, and the city was filled with anxiety.
After darkness fell completely, the Bian Tang embassy was surrounded, and even Ping An and Duo Ji could not leave to gather information.
As the moon rose, a sudden clamor of footsteps erupted outside the embassy, as if a large contingent had surrounded the building in layers. Duo Ji went out to negotiate but only brought back one tall man. Zhuge Huai stood at the door, still smiling politely, though his attitude was far different from before.
“The city is in chaos. Please wait here, Your Highness the Xiuli Wang, and do not move about freely.”
Chu Qiao nodded and replied very gently, “I understand. Don’t worry, Elder Brother.”
Zhuge Huai smiled faintly without saying anything, then turned and left.
At midnight, a sudden burst of fighting erupted from the direction of the Sacred Golden Palace—sounds of bows and crossbows, screams, and drums attempting to mask the chaos but making it more evident, all mixing.
Ping An anxiously ran in, shouting, “Sister, we’re surrounded!”
Chu Qiao still wore her wedding dress, sitting in the main seat, holding a teacup. Upon hearing this, she remained motionless, only her slightly furrowed brow indicating that she had heard the child’s words.
“Sister! We’ll protect you and fight our way out!”
Jing Jing had put on warrior’s clothes and carried a small bow and arrows. Several elderly Bian Tang ceremonial officials stood nearby in panic, their faces pale with fear.
Chu Qiao shook her head. Her gaze fixed on the door, her fist half-clenched, her red auspicious dress eerily resembling blood in the candlelight.
“Miss, that Zhuge Huai is not a good person. He’s detaining us,” Mei Xiang also said, stepping forward.
At the second watch, the fighting outside gradually subsided. Zhuge Huai came to the door again, this time making no pretense at all, stating plainly, “Please come with me.”
“How is Rong’er?”
“Don’t worry. I have no grudge against Li Ce. As long as you cooperate, I guarantee the boy will be fine.”
Chu Qiao stood up and said straightforwardly, “I’ll go with you.”
Zhuge Huai looked at her with appreciation and praised, “My fourth brother’s taste isn’t bad.”
“You betray your family. Aren’t you afraid of retribution?”
Zhuge Huai laughed heartily. After years of restraint, he had finally reached the day of release. He smiled, “Betray the family? How do you know the family didn’t abandon him?”
Chu Qiao’s gaze immediately narrowed. After thinking silently for a moment, she finally nodded, “I understand.”
Hundreds of thousands of people simultaneously fell silent, with no one responding to this bold small soldier who had suddenly run onto the battlefield.
“What are you saying?”
A deep voice slowly sounded. Zhao Yang, as the commander-in-chief of the Southwest, with soldiers all hailing from the southwestern region, stepped forward and asked gravely.
“Your Highness! Your Highness, save us!”
The small soldier, upon seeing Zhao Yang, was immediately overjoyed and hurriedly said, “Yan Xun has brought an army of four hundred thousand, broken through the pass, and invaded our country. Within two days, he swept through nineteen provinces. The three southwestern generations have now become a scorched wasteland.”
“Treasonous lies!” Yue Qi, holding a war blade and sitting on horseback in full armor, said coldly upon hearing this, “The Yanming Pass garrison numbers one hundred thousand. How could Yan Xun silently enter southwestern territory?”
The crowd agreed in unison. Chu Qiao, suppressing the shock in her heart, also felt this made no sense. Even with the civil war raging, everyone knew the importance of Yanming Pass and the threat of Yan Bei. Thus, neither Zhao Yang nor Zhao Che had withdrawn a single soldier from Yanming Pass. Within just a few days, how could Yan Xun break through Yanming Pass and penetrate deep into Da Xia’s territory?
“Lord Sima, Yan Bei didn’t breach Yanming Pass—it was Baizhi Pass!” the messenger cried mournfully. “Bian Tang is in chaos. The Jing’an Prince Consort raised the flag of rebellion, contacted the Jing’an Prince’s former subordinates, and privately led troops to open Tang Hu Pass, letting Yan Bei forces enter Bian Tang. Bian Tang’s three southeastern generations of garrison troops were destroyed. The capital is in peril. Yan Bei, taking the route through Bian Tang and joining forces with Huai Song troops, attacked our Baizhi Pass. The southwestern garrison at Baizhi Pass had all been reassigned, leaving fewer than ten thousand mercenaries. The signal tower was destroyed by Lord Feng Si’s spies within the city, preventing messages from being transmitted. Thus, in less than two days, the entire southwestern territory has fallen.”
In an instant, the entire battlefield fell so silent that one could hear a pin drop. The north wind whistled, quietly blowing across the petrified battlefield.
On the sixth day of the fourth month in the year 882 of the Bai Cang calendar, a message like a joke thundered like lightning, shocking everyone.
On the third day of the fourth month, Yan Xun led four hundred thousand Yan Bei troops through Bian Tang into Da Xia. The southwestern territory completely fell, and approximately four million citizens became slaves of a conquered nation.