The carriage traveled slowly along the official road, passing through bustling streets, through lively crowds, out of Zhenhuang’s city gate, heading southeast, moving unhurriedly. The clamorous sounds gradually faded away; mountains wore snow, wild grass swayed, and the sky was a hazy gray. Occasionally, a lone wild goose flew overhead, letting out a sorrowful cry as it quietly glided across the sky.
Yong’er leaned against Yu Shu’s embrace, drowsy and sleepy. Inside the carriage it was warm; the cotton curtains were thick, blocking out the cold from outside. Yu Shu held the child, gently patting his back rhythmically, unconsciously humming nursery rhymes she had heard in her childhood. Time moved slowly, yet the road beneath their feet seemed especially long.
“Princess, there’s a teahouse ahead. Would you like to stop and rest for a while?”
Jiang Wu, accompanying the Xuan Prince’s mansion guards alongside the carriage, wore an understated gray sable coat. Rubbing his hands together, he leaned over and asked.
The curtain moved slightly, and a cold breeze rushed in. Yu Shu frowned, looked up at the sky, and said: “Let’s hurry on our journey instead. I think it looks like it might snow, and we don’t want to get stranded on the road.”
“Yes,” Jiang Wu agreed, then added: “Red River is such a cold place. If we were in Huai Song, the lotus flowers would still be blooming at this time.”
“Mother?”
Yong’er rubbed his eyes, his cheeks flushed red. The wind blew against his face, making him more alert as he wrinkled his little nose and asked: “Are we there yet?”
Yu Shu looked outside, then nodded: “Almost there.”
Yu Shu hadn’t traveled to many places in her lifetime. Her first time leaving home was journeying from Huai Song to Zhenhuang, traveling thousands of miles, following tens of thousands of Huai Song royal nobles, leaving their homeland behind to arrive in this cold and unfamiliar land.
The circumstances at that time, put nicely, were that Huai Song was following heaven’s mandate, surrendering to Great Yan, and becoming a vassal state of Great Yan. However, everyone knew that the Nalan clan of Huai Song, apart from the Princess Imperial Nalan Hong Ye, had only a few daughters left by the late emperor and a dying young emperor. Their family line could hardly continue, and this so-called vassal state was nothing more than a figurehead. Once the Princess Imperial passed away, Huai Song would inevitably be renamed with the surname “Yan.”
Yet perhaps this outcome was already a good one. In those years among the three kingdoms, Huai Song’s territory was the smallest, not even a tenth of Great Xia’s size. Despite being close to the coast with developed commerce, it lacked iron ore, war horses, and other necessary military equipment, with military power always ranking last among the three kingdoms. It was only because Bian Tang and Great Xia kept each other in check that Huai Song was able to stand firm in the gap for a hundred years without falling. Once the regime of Great Xia or Bian Tang collapsed, the victor’s first move would be to deal with Huai Song.
During those chaotic times, Huai Song’s internal regime was unstable, Bian Tang’s territory was divided in two, state institutions collapsed, Great Xia was fragmented, with continuous civil war, and the Yan Bei iron cavalry emerged from the pass, sweeping across the Central Plains. Huai Song had neither the ability to maintain the triangular balance of power among the three kingdoms, nor the army to seize the opportunity to occupy other countries’ territories, nor a stable domestic regime. Under those circumstances, there was no second option but to rely on Yan Bei. And facts proved that the Princess Imperial’s strategy was indeed wise. Even though the country became a vassal state, the people and officials of Song barely suffered from the war. The royal family and court suffered no losses, and Song officials held extremely high positions in the new dynasty, far from being like the remnants of Great Xia, who were placed at the lowest level in the empire’s hierarchy.
Common people don’t care who is emperor; as long as they have clothes to wear, food to eat, and land to farm, no one will care whether their sovereign’s surname is Yan or Nalan. However, some people still couldn’t accept it. Yu Shu still remembered the day they left Huai Song; many scholars ran to block the royal procession. After being reprimanded by soldiers, some even poured oil on themselves and self-immolated.
Even today, Yu Shu still clearly remembers that scene. The fire roared as it burned, and the person screamed the Xuan Prince’s name while others prostrated themselves, weeping loudly, saying that if the Xuan Prince were still around, he would never allow the kingdom to be handed over by ignorant women and children.
In the blink of an eye, so many years had passed. Now under Great Yan’s governance, such voices gradually subsided, and the man once regarded as the savior by the people of Great Song was mentioned less and less. Even on his death anniversary, only this widowed mother and orphaned child would leave the city early, traveling dozens of miles to pay their respects.
After sitting in the carriage for half a day, they finally reached Yan West Mountain. The mountain was steep, and the carriage couldn’t go up. Yu Shu, wearing a white fur cloak, held Yong’er’s hand as they got off the carriage. The servants brought a soft sedan chair; she sat in it, and the chair swayed as it began to climb the stone steps one by one.
Because the snow was thick, the servants walked slowly. Yong’er was now energetic, lifting the sedan curtain and curiously looking outside from time to time.
Halfway up the mountain was a temple that looked dilapidated. Yu Shu had rested there before when climbing the mountain. She knew there were only about a dozen monks inside, most of them elderly. Due to its remote location, there were few pilgrims, and it always looked deserted, with snow piled up at the entrance and no one to sweep it away.
She looked out through the window and saw green pine trees, lush and verdant, feeling somewhat melancholic.
Another year had passed.
“Princess, we’ve arrived. The path ahead is narrow, and the sedan can’t go further.”
Yu Shu nodded, took Yong’er down from the chair, instructed the other guards to wait there, and taking only Jiang Wu, carrying paper money and incense, she held Yong’er’s hand and walked up the mountain.
The higher they went, the stronger the wind became, making their faces hurt. She kept Yong’er behind her, walking step by step. Suddenly, a gust of wind whistled past her ears, and a black shadow darted out from the forest beside them like lightning. Jiang Wu immediately drew his sword, standing in front of Yu Shu, but before he could pull his sword from its scabbard, two swords were already at his neck.
“Who goes there?”
The other party demanded in a low voice. Yu Shu turned pale and quickly covered Yong’er’s eyes. Unexpectedly, Yong’er was quite brave, pulling his mother’s hand away and shouting righteously: “I am the heir of the Xuan Prince’s mansion, this is my mother, we are here to pay respects to my father. Who are you? Are you a bandit? Aren’t you afraid of being beheaded?”
The child’s voice was as clear as pearls falling on jade, echoing in the forest with the howling wind. Yu Shu was frightened and pulled Yong’er back, holding him tightly in her arms.
To their surprise, the bandits looked at each other, sheathed their swords, and the leader stepped forward, bowing respectfully: “So it’s the Xuan Princess and the young heir. Please forgive our rudeness. May the Princess wait here for a moment.”
With that, they leaped away and were gone.
After a short while, the man returned and said: “Please follow me, Princess.”
Yu Shu looked at them suspiciously, but Jiang Wu seemed to understand something and nodded to Yu Shu, indicating that she need not be afraid.
The white marble floor was very smooth, looking from afar like a huge, polished mirror. The sky was so close it seemed one could reach out and touch the clouds. The wind blew from all directions, lifting the hems of their clothes from below. Snowflakes danced everywhere in the air, whistling and swirling, appearing like a milk-like thick fog.
Yu Shu squinted as she looked ahead and saw a figure standing amidst the snow and wind, wearing a black cloak with the hood raised, concealing his head and face. The mountain wind blew, making a moaning sound, and the snow swirled around him, isolating him from the rest of the world. All that could be seen was a solitary figure, like a towering pine tree, so straight that it seemed able to hold up the entire world.
Even though she couldn’t see his face clearly, Yu Shu immediately knelt, pulling Yong’er beside her, and called out in her not-so-loud voice: “Greetings, Your Majesty.”
Yan Xun turned his head, and his icy gaze softened slightly when he saw her. He smiled faintly, his smile somewhat stiff, perhaps due to the cold weather, or perhaps because he had forgotten how to smile for too long. He nodded quietly and said: “You’ve come.”
Yan Xun did not ask her to rise, and Yu Shu did not dare to move. Her heart pounded as she nervously replied: “Yes.”
“Rise. In front of Xuan Mo, don’t let him think I’m bullying his wife.”
He spoke very casually, but Yu Shu’s legs went weak when she heard it. She nodded timidly and stood up. Leading Yong’er forward, she stood ten paces behind Yan Xun. Before Xuan Mo’s spirit tablet, banners and candles burned high, incense smoke curled upward, and black paper money danced with the wind all over the ground, like a string of black butterflies.
Yan Xun didn’t speak either, just casually stepped back, making room in front of the tomb. Yu Shu led the child forward tremblingly, lit incense, set up banners, and burned paper money. The white paper was gradually consumed by the flames, turning into black ash. Her pale cheeks appeared blood-red in the firelight. Her stiff fingers slowly warmed up but still maintained their rigid posture, gradually pouring all the paper money into the roaring flames.
“Father, Yong’er has come to see you.”
Yong’er obediently knelt on the ground, properly kowtowed three times, then said with a serious face: “This year, my studies have been very good. Master Lu has praised me three times. I’ve learned many characters and also learned to ride a horse. Uncle Jiang gave me a little pony, black with a tuft of white hair on its nose. It’s very beautiful.”
The child chattered on, his words carrying the innocence unique to children. His voice was soft, but he deliberately put on a serious adult manner, frowning with his little eyebrows, looking very adorable.
“Father, it’s getting cold, you must remember to wear more clothes. The cotton clothes that Mother and I burned for you, remember to wear them. Since you’re alone here, you need to learn to take care of yourself, don’t get sick. I will take care of Mother for you, so don’t worry.”
The mountain wind suddenly grew stronger. Yu Shu turned her head away, her eyes somewhat moist.
“Mother? What’s wrong?”
Yu Shu forced a smile and said: “It’s nothing, the wind got in my eyes.”
As she spoke, she suddenly felt the wind diminish. Yu Shu raised her head in confusion and saw a tall figure standing upwind, right in front of them. Ahead was a cliff; that person stood against the wind, his clothes blown by the breeze, white snowflakes swirling around. Though he stood so close, it seemed as if he were a thousand miles away, forever unreachable.
“Mother? Mother? What’s wrong?”
Seeing her daze, Yong’er called out anxiously. Yu Shu, aware of her lapse, quickly turned her head and said: “It’s nothing, Yong’er, quickly kowtow to your father.”
The child stared with wide eyes: “I already did.”
Yu Shu nodded, threw the last string of paper money into the fire, then also bowed three times before standing up.
“Are you done?”
A deep voice sounded from ahead. Yu Shu, with lowered eyes, nodded quickly. Yan Xun said: “Then let’s go together.”
How could Yu Shu dare to object? She continued to nod obediently in agreement.
Yan Xun stepped forward, took Yong’er’s hand, and smiled: “So you can ride a horse now?”
More than a dozen guards ran forward, some cleaning up the memorial ceremony items behind them, others guarding the left and right sides.
Yong’er frequently visited the palace and, since Yan Xun was always friendly to him, he was not shy. Holding the hand of the most powerful person in the world, he looked up with a bright smile and said: “Yes, Uncle Jiang taught me, but I’m still too small to ride a big horse, I can only ride a pony.”
Yan Xun smiled and said: “Your father couldn’t ride a horse when he was your age. You’re better than him.”
“Ah? Really?”
Yong’er was surprised, opening his eyes wide, and asked: “Was my father so silly?”
Hearing this, Yan Xun laughed happily: “Your father was good at everything else—he excelled in poetry, was widely read, but just couldn’t ride a horse. He learned horsemanship from me.”
“Wow, so Your Majesty is my father’s teacher? Can Your Majesty teach me? I want to ride a big horse, not a pony anymore. The little pony Uncle Jiang gave me is too lazy; it doesn’t even run, it only walks with small steps.”
“You’re still too young to learn horse riding, but I can teach you something else.”
“What else can Your Majesty do? Can you fight crickets?”
Yan Xun smiled calmly: “I know many things.”
“Your Majesty is boasting. My Red-Headed General is undefeated throughout the palace; even the Second Prince’s Mighty Green-Headed King had a leg bitten off.”
…
On the narrow stone path, a tall figure and a short one walked at the front, chatting as they went, in perfect harmony. Snow and wind were all around, but they seemed unable to intrude between them.
Yu Shu followed behind, gazing absent-mindedly at their backs, vaguely thinking that if the Prince were still alive, perhaps it would be just like this. Perhaps he would also take Yong’er out for spring outings in his leisure time, talk about some embarrassing childhood stories of other friends, and then arrogantly boast about how clever and valiant he was in his youth. Perhaps it would be just like this.
She suddenly felt sad. Although she was a simple woman who only knew how to take care of her husband and raise her child, she was not entirely ignorant of the outside world.
In recent years, especially the last two, princes were born one after another in the palace, but there was never any mention of the Emperor showing particular affection for any son. Subconsciously, Yu Shu understood that the Yan state was newly established, and various political powers were still unstable. There were still small-scale wars in the north, and Great Yan had promised before the Empress married into the Yan country that the Emperor of Great Yan must be the Empress’s son. So even though the Empress currently had no children, the Emperor could not be too close to his other sons, lest it arouse suspicion at court. After all, old officials from Huai Song still held some power in the court.
For the Emperor to speak with such a gentle expression—perhaps even his sons had never seen it.
Having his own son right before him yet unable to be close to him—the Emperor’s heart must be very sad too.
Yu Shu sighed foolishly. A flock of birds flew over from the forest, their wings flapping noisily. She raised her head; the wind on her face felt ice-cold.
Laughter came from ahead, the sound so joyful.
In the distant deep palace, Nalan threw a piece of white silk into the fire, watching it gradually being consumed by the flames, turning into black ash. Faintly, she seemed to hear the wind blowing from the southeast, carrying unfamiliar voices, lingering in her ears.
The deep palace was cold and quiet. She wore elaborate palace garments, layers of brocade wrapping her entire being, along with her joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness, all becoming a rigid symbol amidst the splendid silks and satins. Her back was straight, her face adorned with exquisite makeup. All the maids and eunuchs stood far away, none daring to raise their heads to look at her. She was still that noble lady, the de facto Empress of Huai Song, the legitimate Empress of Great Yan, the last princess of the Nalan clan. However, her shoulders were slightly weary.
Sunlight shone on her, and in the beam of light, tiny dust particles danced up and down.
Everything was changing, except for her shadow, which for many years had been lonely, stretched long, long by the gentle passage of time.
“Another year has passed.”
Silently, she smiled faintly, a smile that dissipated like mist in the cold snow of late autumn.