Beyond the outskirts of Biandu there was a low, modest hillside.

Unlike the solemn and imposing imperial mausoleums, it was utterly ordinary. The wild grass grew sparse along the mountain path, and only a few towering trees had been planted at the edge of the hilltop burial ground.

Luowei was not visiting here for the first time — when she had first become acquainted with Zhou Xuechu, Zhou Xuechu had followed her back from the south to Biandu and brought her here first.

“This hill was purchased by my grandfather. Many of his friends are buried on it. Every year at the Qingming Festival, grandfather and grandmother often spoke of this place, so each time my elder brother and I came to Biandu, we would come to pay our respects and offer sacrifices.”

Song Ling held her hand and walked with her past tombstones of varying heights.

These tombstones had weathered three reigns and the elements — wind and rain — until the names of those interred were almost illegible. Yet the towering trees in the burial ground still flourished abundantly, casting a wide expanse of cool shade over them.

Standing before these tombstones, Luowei felt only desolation in her heart.

A person lives one life — fighting, contending, loving, and hating with great passion and color that cannot be fully told — yet after death, it all comes down to this one handful of yellow earth.

Only long silence remains as companion, and the soft wind passing through the leaves.

Song Lan had left the last “withered orchid” in the world sitting upright on the most prominent desk in the Qianfang Hall. After Bai Sensen received it, there was no longer any need to use Song Ling’s blood as a medicinal reagent for Luowei. With his sustained efforts, the residual poison in her body was completely purged, and she would no longer suffer the pain of labored breathing and chronic illness that had plagued her before.

“On the day you learned you had been poisoned, why were you so calm?”

Bai Sensen suddenly asked from behind her: “Both you and Ling Ye were very calm. And when you parted from Song Lan at the great river, you were resolute as well — at that time I had not yet found a cure for the poison, and I had told you plainly that if you continued to exhaust yourself mentally and physically, there was a risk to your life.”

If she knew that her days were numbered, why did she still press forward with all her strength? Why could she still be certain she would win, giving no thought to the consequences?

Luowei exchanged a glance with Song Ling and said after a moment’s reflection: “…I wanted to prove to the world what I believed in.”

“That beneath self-interest, beneath human hearts, there still exists elusive friendship and reason that passes through the world — that if you bestow grace, you will be repaid with good; if you do evil, you will surely face heaven’s condemnation. When the day comes that the truth is revealed to the world, people will praise beautiful and noble character, and disdain base and wicked hearts. I wanted to do… the things that make me feel joyful and right.”

Song Ling interlaced his fingers with hers, repeating the oath they had made at the mountain temple in Xuzhou: “When we were young, we swore to clarify the universe and educate the people, to make the realm rich and peaceful and the four outer borders unified, so that the common people would not suffer hunger, disease, or war, and officials would be spared upheaval, distant exile, and the misfortune of coming too soon or too late into the world… someday, may the great way be like the blue sky — with renowned ministers within, and steadfast generals without, restoring the prosperous governance of our forebears.”

What had sustained her in not taking her own life after all her loved ones had passed away; what had sustained him in not abandoning himself after he had sunk into the mire — beyond the love that would willingly sacrifice everything for each other, there was also this youthful, naive, undeniable ideal.

Song Yaofeng wiped the new unmarked gravestone before her and said with a smile: “I never had such ideals before. I only hoped my loved ones would always be near, and friends would never grow few, that everyone together could live happily and joyfully… later I discovered that these small, humble wishes were in truth somewhat harder to achieve than the grand ones.”

Zhou Xuechu sat on the ground and plucked a lone, clear melody — the same song that Qiu Fang and Lu Hang had once sung on East Mountain, the “Full Garden of Fragrance.”

A petty name and a trifling gain — what is the point of such relentless toil? All things are predetermined; who is the weak and who the strong? Take advantage of leisure before one grows old, and freely indulge one’s little wildness. In a hundred years, let all be drunken, thirty-six thousand rounds.

Contemplate. How many more times — worry and trouble, wind and rain, obstruct you halfway? And why must you argue to the death about long and short? How fortunate to face a clear wind and bright moon, moss-covered mat spread out, clouds stretched like a canopy above. The south is beautiful: a thousand cups of fine wine, one song of “Full Garden of Fragrance.”

This piece, when sung in the midst of intoxication, had seemed to carry a desolate sadness of unfulfilled ambition. Now, played through once more, it was still lone and clear, yet peaceful and serene, the melancholy wildness tinged with a hope for the beauty of the “southern Jiangnan.”

Later, rain fell in the forest. Fortunately those few tall trees provided shelter, and everyone dodged in time — only the hems of their robes were dampened.

Luowei stretched out her hand and caught a drop of rain that had splashed off a branch.

“This is a long-gathering rain… no matter how carefully you or I tried to avoid it, we could not escape… being drenched.”

After coming down the hill, Zhou Xuechu said her farewells and returned to the south to live in seclusion, drifting downstream along the river. Bai Sensen chased after Zhou Xuechu as they left the capital together, continuing in their “rivers and lakes” venture — not knowing whether they headed north or back to the southwest.

Song Yaofeng had recently been overseeing the establishment of a women’s academy in the capital — teaching not only literature, but also martial arts.

Although Qiu Xueyu was the daughter of a civil official, her mother had practiced martial arts from childhood, which was how she had survived the pursuit and capture in those earlier days. She had originally intended to go north and join the army, to be a woman general of the sort commonly seen in Youzhou. Having been talked out of it by Song Yaofeng, she decided to stay and teach martial arts, temporarily serving as a lady official at Song Yaofeng’s side.

Zhang Suwu requested to leave the palace and went together with Pei Xi to the western capital, Luoyang, to sort through documents and books.

Chao Lan then took charge of the palace attendants, becoming a manager of modest standing — she was an orphan girl whom Yu Suiyun had taken in during her youth in Huizhou, and as a child she had once been injured in her mind, leaving her spirit pure and simple.

Later, when Luowei had no one beside her, Yu Suiyun had thought it over again and again and found only Chao Lan the most trustworthy.

The palace upheavals had washed away wave upon wave of people with varying intentions. Only she remained, like a dewdrop — always crystalline and transparent, guileless and free of sorrow.

The underground chamber of the Burning Candle Tower was packed full with stone and sealed forever, as though it had never existed. Chang Zhao was executed in autumn, calm and untroubled, looking up at the sky with a smile on his face.

In the blink of an eye, it was another Lantern Festival.

Since the third year of Tiangshou, the Crown Prince’s birthday had become a day of death, and the capital had forbidden grand ceremonies. The sound of celebratory cannon fire had rarely been heard. This year Biandu survived, and the new Emperor ascended the throne. At last the ban was lifted, and Biandu’s Lantern Festival was allowed to come alive with festivity once more.

“In the first year of Xuanning’s reign, on the Emperor’s birthday, on the joyous night of the Lantern Festival, the Holy Son of Heaven bestows feasting for three days — day and night without restriction. Walking to ward off illness, reveling in flower lanterns, may wind and rain be favorable, may the five grains be abundant!”

On this night of the palace banquet, after the court officials had departed, a white horse followed alongside the imperial palanquin, and they traveled all the way out through the Mingguang Gate.

Luowei removed her hairpins and ornaments, dressed in the pink gauze sweet crabapple-blossom skirt common among the people. Song Ling wore a white scholar’s robe with intertwining branch patterns in a darker shade, tethering the horse to a roadside tree before the two of them clasped hands and moved through the dense throngs.

The precious jade hairpin pendant, lost and recovered, hung properly at her waist — as though nothing had ever happened.

The Zhuque Front Street was hung with all manner of flower lanterns. Luowei followed him at a run, and then suddenly caught sight of a turning lantern beneath an old tree.

Her heart gave a startled leap, and she stopped in her tracks, staring fixedly at that turning lantern, her heartbeat like a drum. Yet she stood there for a very long and long time, and the turning lantern kept turning slowly on as always, with only its hanging red tassels swaying in the breeze.

“Luowei —”

Luowei came back to herself. Just then, before a vendor’s stall selling bronze mirrors, she glimpsed her own face — she was no longer a young girl’s visage, but her cheeks bore a faint blush, her pupils bright with life, and the corners of her lips curved in an involuntary, brilliant smile.

“Hurry, don’t let them recognize us.”

The Bianhe River was covered with flower lanterns of every imaginable shape. On the opposite bank, sky lanterns also drifted slowly upward, buoyed by the hopes of couples in love.

She suddenly asked: “That year at the riverside, what wish did you make?”

The young Emperor turned his head to look at her, his smile tender: “I cannot tell you — if you say it aloud, it won’t come true.”

Luowei feigned indignation: “Then… has it come true?”

He turned to gaze toward the riverbank, the lacquer-black pupils reflecting lantern-light like stars: “It will come true.”

He thought for a moment and asked her in return: “And you? What wish did you make, and has it come true?”

Luowei made a face at him: “You guess.”

“It has come true, and it will come true.”

When spring came this year, the crabapple trees she had transplanted would surely bloom again and fill the entire palace courtyard. In late spring and early summer, the crepe myrtles would also be in full bloom, intertwining and entwined with each other — a scene of eyes meeting and hearts drawn together, entangled as they were.

The year of Yisi, spring floods across the land.

【Epilogue】

In the autumn of the first year of Xuanning’s reign, with the northern border initially pacified, the Wen Emperor held formal wedding ceremonies in accordance with state rites, enthroning Empress Su — whose given name was Su Xu — as Imperial Consort, dividing the imperial seal and increasing her status, elevating both to co-regents. The Great Yin welcomed the first period of dual-sovereign regency in the dynasty’s history.

At first the world had objections, and the officials were no short of criticisms. But thereafter, the Emperor and Empress selected officials, audited the treasury, deliberated on state matters, and accepted counsel — in all things they convinced their subjects by merit, and so the opinions of the masses fell away.

In the third month of the second year of Xuanning, Xu Dan, Academician of the Qiong Ting Academy, was sent outward to the Zhuo Commandery.

In the sixth month, the Emperor and Empress issued an edict across the nation to lighten corvée and reduce taxes, and to nurture the military for five years. They also dispatched many officials to rigorously investigate northern border spies, and restored the Jintian and Zhuque Guards to command the imperial garrison.

In the first month of the fifth year of Xuanning, the Prince of Linyang left the capital for his vassal territory.

In the ninth month, General Yan Lang led three thousand troops on a covert crossing of the Youyun River and launched a raid deep into the Ezhen heartland, winning a great victory. The northern border tribal alliance thus entirely collapsed. Wumang, while in flight, suffered a relapse of his arrow wound and died of illness in Talila City. Yan Lang carved a stone stele at the Youyun River and was granted the title of Auxiliary State Grand General.

In the eighth year of Xuanning, the Wen Emperor personally led the campaign to the southwest, joining forces with Prince Cheng to suppress the rebellion in the border commanderies. Empress Wen served as regent with the Long Princess hearing government affairs, leading by example in reducing palace expenditure, and won the praise of the world.

In the twelfth year of Xuanning, the gradually strengthening Wuer Hui combined with the Ezhen remnants and made a resurgence. At this time the nation’s soldiers were strong and horses well-fed. The Emperor dispatched Grand General Yan Lang and Sui Xiao, together with Circlet-Cloud General Ye Lei and General of the Returning Virtue Li Zhao, to send troops to the Youyun River. They won a great victory. The Wuer Hui retreated far into the depths of the northern desert, and the twelve northern tribes surrendered and paid tribute. This was known in history as the “Pacification of the North Campaign.”

After the Pacification of the North Campaign, the northern foreign threat was exterminated entirely.

Sui Xiao died of illness on the return journey. He died facing the Eastern Capital in obeisance, calling out repeatedly: “The late Emperor remembered me.” The Emperor and Empress went out together through the eastern gate, escorted his coffin into the Imperial Ancestral Temple, and the world donned mourning white.

In the thirteenth year of Xuanning, Xu Dan, who had returned to the capital for four years, rose from Imperial Censor-in-Chief to Grand Censor. The politically accomplished He Zhong was promoted to Minister of Rites. In the twelfth month of the same year, he was appointed as Grand Counselor.

On New Year’s Day, the Wen Emperor changed the reign title to “Guangshi,” and employed He Zhong to reform the civil examination subjects. The following year, the censors and advisors were cleared and the administration set right, and the realm was greatly pacified.

In the second year of Guangshi, the Long Princess Shu Kang was established as Imperial Crown Princess.

In the middle of the fourth year of Guangshi, the Empress, still in the bloom of her youth, passed away in the Qionghua Palace. Her posthumous title was Xuanzhi, and she was interred in the Yong Mausoleum.

The Wen Emperor, overcome with grief, took to his bed. He passed away in the Qianfang Palace the following month and was buried together with the Empress in the Yong Mausoleum. The Emperor had been deeply devoted in love, and had never taken a consort throughout his life. Despite objections, his remarkable achievements prevailed, and the couple were jointly honored in history as the Guangshi Emperor and Empress.

On the day the Yong Mausoleum was laid to rest, the sound of weeping filled all of Biandu. That night on the fifteenth, the moon hid in the middle of the sky.

The Long Princess ascended the throne as regent, establishing the Xiaoxiang Commandery Prince as heir apparent.

In the fifth year of Guangshi, Xu Dan resigned from the Censorate platform. With the realm already settled, he resolved to resume his old profession and led the Qiong Ting History Archives officials in compiling historical records.

Before entering the Qiong Ting, he went on an excursion to the countryside outside the city. It was late spring. His light boat carried only himself and a boatman. The waters of the Bianhe River flowed gently, and along both banks near the great river there were many crabapple trees in full bloom. Beneath the trees was a shade of violet-red — as the place was damp, the crepe myrtle flowers had already opened before summer arrived.

He made a circuit of the banks and looked on, feeling a sense of loss and grief. On the return journey he sat at the prow, and played across a flute melody.

The flute’s sound was mournful and sorrowful, entirely at odds with the rich and flourishing spring day. Fallen petals drifted like snow, one petal after another settling on the rippled, interlaced surface of the spring waters.

Suddenly the sound of a qin zither came from a distant hill. Though it harmonized with his flute melody, the qin was filled with boundless emotion and carried its own joyous, flourishing vitality.

Xu Dan gripped his jade flute and listened for a good while, feeling the sound increasingly familiar.

At a swiftly flowing stretch of water, a boat suddenly brushed past him. He had not made out the faces of the two people at the prow, but he could tell from a distance that it was one man and one woman, dressed in pink and white. In the wind that swept past him, mingled scents of sandalwood, jasmine, and rose carried on the air — tender to the utmost, and lingering to the utmost.

The zither’s sound had not come from a distant hill after all, but had risen from the water and echoed all around the surrounding mountains.

He suddenly had tears streaming down his face. He knelt at the prow and wanted to call out loudly, yet was afraid of startling the white cranes drinking at the water’s edge, and so he fell silent.

After the small boat had gone far away, a merchant ship laden with fresh flowers suddenly sailed past, cutting off his line of sight. The delicate fragrance at the tip of his nose was swallowed up by a more intense scent and drifted away thread by thread.

There was a singing girl dancing at the ship’s rail, singing a soft and lingering song:

“After the early-clearing rain at the foot of Phoenix Mountain, the waterside wind is cool, the sunset glow bright. A lotus flower opens, blooming still in its fullness. Where has it flown from, this pair of white egrets — as if they have intent, admiring graceful beauty.”

“Suddenly from the river comes the sad sound of a plucked zither, full of bitter feeling — who is there to hear it? The mist fades and the clouds draw back; it seems to be the Spirit of the Xiang River. Wishing to wait until the music ends and ask, the person is nowhere to be seen — only a few peaks of blue-green.”

【Main Text Complete】