IF Timeline Spin-off · The Crown Prince’s Rebirth

Crown Prince’s Rebirth IF Timeline · What Night Is This?

01 · Fear Not That on the Road Ahead You’ll Have No Kindred Soul

When Song Ling opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a star.

He stared at it for a moment, reached up and rubbed his eyes, but the star did not disappear — it still hung in the night sky. He looked and looked again before realizing this was no illusion: directly above him, there was unmistakably a crack in the fabric of a military tent!

It seemed to be summer. The tent was not cool, and Song Ling stood up, feeling somewhat dazed as he lifted the tent flap and walked out.

Soldiers on night patrol passed back and forth. Seeing him emerge, they bowed in greeting one after another: “Your Imperial Highness, the Crown Prince.”

His Imperial Highness, the Crown Prince?

Everything felt both strange and familiar. Song Ling was still in a daze when he suddenly heard someone call out “Ling Ye,” followed by the sound of footsteps rushing happily toward him.

He turned his head and found, to his astonishment, that the one who had come was a young Ye He!

Ye He was the same age as him. By his current appearance, he looked no older than thirteen or fourteen — which meant he himself was also… thirteen or fourteen?

But he was supposed to be in the Qianfang Hall!

Song Ling remembered that this year was the thirteenth year of the Xuanning reign, approaching the New Year’s Eve. The northern border troubles had been pacified, and he had intended to elevate He Zhong to the position of Chancellor after the new year, reform the imperial examinations, and change the reign title.

Just a few days prior, he and Luowei had still been discussing whether “Guangshi” or “Yangchu” would be a better choice.

Had the exhaustion of recent days caused him to sink into such a bizarre dream?

Song Ling’s head throbbed with pain. He forced himself to recall: yesterday, Shu Kang had entered the palace to stay with Luowei, and he had been alone in the Qianfang Hall reviewing memorials. After dusk, he had gone to the Zuifeng Terrace to let the breeze wash over him for a while, and on his way back, he had happened to notice the carved inscription on the stone pillar to the east of the terrace.

The inscription that Song Qi had carved there in his youth.

And so he had sat in the hall, remembering many old friends and things of the past, unable to avoid a pang of grief. The candlelight on the desk flickered, and at some point, buried beneath a pile of memorials, he had drowsily fallen asleep.

And now he had woken up here!

Song Ling slowly came to the realization that something rather unusual had happened to him.

Seeing that he gave no reply for a long while, Ye He called out: “Your Highness?”

Song Ling murmured: “What year… is it this year?”

The soldiers around him exchanged glances, and at last one of them worked up the courage to answer: “Did Your Highness sleep poorly last night? This is the eighteenth year of the Changning reign.”

The eighteenth year of the Changning reign… he was only fourteen years old!

That year, he had come to Youzhou on an inspection tour, accompanied by the third son of the Ye family, Ye He. From the beginning of spring to the end of summer, he had traveled through all twelve cities along the border, gaining for the first time a thorough and deep understanding of the military situation in the northern territories.

Wait… the eighteenth year of the Changning reign?

This was exactly the year the Battle of Youyun He took place!

At the end of summer, he had set out on the journey back. His feet had barely touched Biandu when news arrived from the north that the border had been attacked. Ye Kun had been killed after committing treason, and Liu Yun had become the hero of the border, presenting a memorial to the Emperor demanding severe punishment for the crimes of the Ye Family.

He had pleaded repeatedly, and had barely managed to save the Ye Family. Ye He had come alone to Biandu and become his sworn retainer.

So now…

Whether he had truly and completely returned to the past, or had sunk into a bizarre dream, finding himself in this particular year, he had to do something.

“Your Highness, weren’t you originally planning to set off for the capital today? I came especially to see you off, but to my surprise, Your Highness has not yet departed,” said Ye He with some worry. “Is Your Highness feeling unwell?”

Song Ling’s heart pounded like a drum. He forced himself to calm down, shook his head, and strode quickly toward the outer perimeter of the military camp, asking as he walked: “Where is your elder brother?”

“Has Your Highness forgotten? A few days ago, an urgent report came from Pingcheng. My elder brother led troops there, and by now he should have arrived. I heard the veteran generals in the camp say that my elder brother only took half his forces with him on this march. The other half has separate orders — once Your Highness leaves Youzhou, they are to mobilize and go to provide reinforcements.”

That was right. Ye Kun had taken half his trusted subordinates with him, and the other half had made their way circuitously to Yanzhou, where they were subsequently ambushed by Chang Zhao, failing to provide reinforcement in time.

But why had Pingcheng already sent an urgent report at this point? He clearly remembered that during his time in Youzhou back then, the border had been entirely peaceful. The Battle of Youyun He had not occurred until late autumn, and by the time he was quarreling with his father in the inner palace, it had already been snowing.

But everything was so absurd — perhaps in this twisted time and space, many things were subtly different from before.

The place where he stood was An City, where the Ye Family had been stationed for many years. It was still three days’ journey to Pingcheng on the banks of Youyun He. Thinking of all the matters that lay ahead, there was truly no time for further hesitation. Song Ling closed his eyes and said in a steady voice: “Prepare the horses. I am going to Pingcheng in person.”

He opened his eyes and turned to Ye He: “A-He, convey my command for the Ye Family troops to remain stationed here for the time being. If the veteran generals raise objections, tell them that I have already learned your brother sent them toward Yanzhou, and that there are Etru spies operating in Yanzhou in recent days who have leaked this intelligence. If they proceed as planned, I fear it will ruin your brother’s scheme.”

Every sentence he spoke came swiftly, yet his words were clear, carrying an unshakable certainty — he had even thought ahead to the possible doubts of the veteran generals. Ye He, hearing the gravity in his tone, said nothing and turned to leave after bowing. By the time Song Ling reached the entrance of the command tent, Ye He had already dispatched a contingent of men and horses to escort him to Pingcheng.

Song Ling leapt onto his horse and rode through the night toward Pingcheng.

Though it was summer, fine threads of chill could still be felt after dark along the border.

Riding without pause for two days, they at last arrived outside Pingcheng.

His men were exhausted, both riders and horses. Moreover, Pingcheng shut its gates at night, so they had no choice but to stop at a roadside inn outside the city and wait for dawn before entering.

Though the long journey had left him little time for rest, Song Ling still could not sleep for the restlessness in his heart. That night, he stood alone beneath the eaves of the inn, gazing out at the boundless northern desert stretching not far away.

During those days of jostling hoofbeats, he had gone over everything carefully in his mind, one detail at a time.

The past was not an illusion. He remembered clearly every event of every year, remembered the face of every person. He had survived an assassination attempt by the narrowest of margins, had joined forces with Luowei to bring down Yu Qiushi and Song Lan, and with the help of allies on all sides had completely eradicated the foreign threat from the northern territory.

Then, on an ordinary night, he had thought of old friends and fallen into a deep sleep — only to open his eyes and find himself back more than twenty years in the past!

Fourteen years old… had he been any younger, he could have offered more care to Song Lan before Song Lan had schemed his way into their first meeting, and might even have exposed his birth mother’s identity as an Etru spy early on.

Though it was not too late now, he truly did not know whether Song Lan had already begun to harbor resentment and jealousy toward him. But aside from this resentment, what had driven him to contend for the throne was also Yu Qiushi’s instigation, the Lin Family’s clandestine support, Song Qi’s unwitting offense, his birth mother’s lifelong misery… face after face swept past him. He breathed in deeply and realized that he had far too much to do.

For now, he could only deal with the matters immediately before him one by one, and think about the future afterward. The Battle of Youyun He was imminent. How Ye Kun became Chang Zhao — he had witnessed every step of it. If only one person at court had ever said to him, “I believe you never betrayed your country,” perhaps he would never have taken the path he later walked.

If all of these regrets could be stopped here, at this moment — would all the later partings and deaths, the cruel twists of fate where people passed by without recognition, the brutal struggles soaked in blood, never come to pass?

The wind at the border carried fine grains of drifting sand. Song Ling raised a hand to shield his face, and looked up to find the night sky ablaze with rivers of stars.

The lights here were sparse, and every star shone brighter than in the capital.

He gazed at that starry sky and thought of Luowei. A ripple had barely stirred in his heart when the smile froze on his face.

The innocent, unsorrowing twelve-year-old Luowei — who had not yet lived through everything that followed the Thorn-of-the-Tang Incident, whose father was still alive.

She had not yet endured the heartbreaking losses. She had not yet encountered the heavy rain on the road.

Though everything had at last grown still, every year at the Qingming Festival they would make the journey to the mountains to pay their respects. The years of their youth flowed away like a river heading east, carrying with it many who had left deep marks on their lives. They had fulfilled the wishes of their youth side by side, paying with growth and incompleteness as the price.

Now that everything was beginning again, could he strive with all his strength to make up for these incompletions, and wipe away every tear she had let fall in their kisses?

The paper lantern at the inn swayed and flickered. Song Ling composed his thoughts and was just about to turn back to his room when he suddenly heard a voice that sounded faintly familiar: “Innkeeper, do you still have rooms for travelers at this late hour?”

He slowly turned his head and saw a middle-aged man dressed in plain gray-white robes. The man set down the bamboo hat from his head, placed it to one side, and carried himself with elegant bearing and composure: “I was on my way into the city, but found the gates already shut. I hadn’t expected the inn would still have its lanterns lit — what a pleasant surprise.”

The innkeeper let out a yawn and answered lazily: “A noble guest arrived today and has taken all the rooms. If you don’t mind, make do in the main hall. If that won’t do, sit by the window — Pingcheng can be entered at the first light of dawn. You’re welcome to come in and rest.”

The middle-aged man replied: “That will do perfectly.”

He drew a silver ingot from his sleeve. The innkeeper waved it off, and perhaps moved by his refined manner, added: “Please wait a moment, honored guest. I’ll go brew a pot of strong tea.”

Song Ling stood rooted to the spot, and locked eyes with Yu Qiushi as Yu Qiushi turned around after giving his thanks.

Strangely, Yu Qiushi did not step forward to pay his respects upon seeing him.

Running into him here, Yu Qiushi was plainly taken aback, but he simply stood there and looked at him steadily, saying nothing, making no move.

In the end, it was Song Ling who spoke first: “Lord Yu.”

These words prompted a flicker in Yu Qiushi’s gaze. He bowed with evident surprise, saying: “Your Highness.”

Song Ling reached out to help him up and heard him ask in a puzzled tone: “Your servant has no name or standing at court and has been posted away for all this time. How does Your Highness know of me?”

“The Grand… Lord Yu need not undervalue yourself,” said Song Ling, guiding him to sit together, nearly having called out “Grand Preceptor.” “So long as one has the heart, the day will surely come when all under heaven will know you.”

Yu Qiushi smiled faintly, without particular concern, and only asked: “Your servant heard that Your Highness was in An City, and would be returning to the capital these days — how is it that you have appeared so suddenly here?”

Song Ling said: “There are enemy forces pressing toward Pingcheng. I could not set my heart at ease and came to have a look.”

He regarded the man before him and, on an impulse, continued: “What views does Lord Yu have on the border situation?”

Yu Qiushi smiled without answering and asked instead: “And what does Your Highness think?”

Song Ling dipped his finger in water and wrote the character for “conquer” on the table.

“The tribes of the north eye our territory covetously. Father favors conciliation and unceasing appeasement — in truth, this is not because he dares not fight. Only… the court at present lacks capable men, the frontier generals are of divided loyalty, and if war is waged rashly, in the end it is only the common people of the empire who will suffer. We fear a prolonged conflict, and yet, don’t the northern tribes fear the same? They probe frequently, but never cross Youyun He — they know that even if they won the land, they could not hold it. Unless they had the certainty of a decisive victory and a deep strike into our territory, they would not dare to invade in force, but…”

His tone shifted: “The Etru tribe was once the weakest force among the northern tribes, and yet it is now rising toward supremacy — not through seizing territory, but through winning hearts. The Etru excel at cultivating spies. Who knows how many of their agents observe the central plains from the shadows. This state of affairs might hold for a few years, but what of ten years from now, twenty years? With so many Etru spies scattered about, what if even one of them succeeded in stirring the empire into chaos and gave them an opening to exploit? During these days of inspection in An City, I have made a resolution: nurture the people for ten years — at most ten years. One day, I will drive the northern tribes back into the depths of the northern desert and permanently eliminate the northern threat to our dynasty.”

He was only fourteen, his voice still carrying hints of youth, yet these words rang out with the weight of iron striking stone. Yu Qiushi sat across from him, silent for a long time, before sighing with feeling: “From ancient times, heroes have risen from the young. What fine ambition, Your Highness.”

He paused, then suddenly said: “In truth, your servant was in An City just a few days ago.”

Song Ling was rather taken aback: “Oh?”

Yu Qiushi said gently: “I had been making a careful survey of the border and had drawn a detailed map of the territory, intending to discuss military strategy with Your Highness. But Your Highness was busy these days entertaining the frontier officers and celebrating with the people, and I could not find an opportunity to seek an audience.”

These words were delivered in a tone of calm nonchalance, yet Song Ling felt a hidden tremor of shock. At this time, Yu Qiushi held a lowly rank, and after Song Ling’s arrival in Youzhou, local officials from every prefecture and county had all wished to pay their respects — too many to receive, so he had simply declined to see anyone.

Back then in Youzhou, Yu Qiushi had actually come seeking him, map in hand?

It was not difficult for Song Ling to imagine what had been weighing on Yu Qiushi’s mind. His father had pacified all four quarters, and since Song Ling’s enthronement as Crown Prince, he too had consistently advocated peace. Only after personally coming to inspect the border did he come to understand the northern peril in depth. He had spoken candidly with his father and knew that his father too had a will to take military action — yet these were matters not to be spoken of to outsiders. Few court officials had ever come to Youzhou; they knew only that war cost money and grain and wore out the people, and if the topic were raised rashly, it would certainly stir up a great commotion.

And so Yu Qiushi had been certain that he would follow the Emperor’s old policies. He arrived with his scroll and was not received, and the one chance for a meeting of minds had been lost through a cruel turn of fate. Ruler and subject did not know each other, subject and ruler did not understand each other — and in the end, Yu Qiushi had looked upon Song Lan in the Hall of Virtue and seen a deeply calculating mind, and resolved to help him contend for the throne, which brewed a consequence that could never be undone.

When he made that decision, the loyalty he harbored was not toward the Emperor who had shown him recognition, nor toward the years he had spent as an official. His loyalty was toward the state — yet he was too extreme, too arrogant, blind to all else like a man seeing only one leaf against the sky. Regret came too late.

After rising to be second only to the Emperor and above all the ten thousand, he lost still more of his original heart, stubbornly believing in his own judgment, amassing great wealth, eliminating those who stood against him. In the quiet of midnight, would he ever recall the self who had once traveled alone throughout Youzhou?

Perhaps what Yu Qiushi enjoyed more was the sensation of holding all things within his palm — sitting alone in a bright hall and stirring the storms of the world. Song Ling thought: that feeling was truly intoxicating. Even looking down from high among the clouds, he could not guarantee that in the next moment he himself would not be devoured by power and lose himself within it.

People are truly complex and strange creatures. Living a second life, meeting face to face again, he still could not read the whole of Yu Qiushi.

But after today, Yu Qiushi would surely not make the same choice as before.

He would not give him the opportunity either.

Song Ling drank three cups of tea and eventually felt somewhat drowsy. He rose to take his leave, walked a few steps, then seemed to remember something and turned back: “It is not so surprising that I know of Lord Yu.”

Yu Qiushi raised an eyebrow in puzzlement.

“Father once praised Lord Yu in my presence, and even recited a few lines from your policy essay at the imperial examinations,” said Song Ling. “‘The true duty of a minister lies in seeking substance over vanity, abandoning fame in pursuit of result, scheming for affairs and for oneself…’ Lord Yu need not demand of yourself that you become a saint. The line between divinity and demon lies in a single thought. I hope you will cherish yourself and then turn your sights upon the world.”

Yu Qiushi held his teacup and sat beneath the eaves for the entire night.

02 · I Pity You Most, Dancing at Midnight

At the first light of dawn, Song Ling and Yu Qiushi entered Pingcheng together.

What he had not expected was that, even so, he had arrived too late.

The city was in a state of panic. Liu Yun appeared to have already reached an agreement with Wumang. Rumors harmful to the Ye Family were being spread in every direction. The night before, Ye Kun had led troops toward Youyun He, fought through the night, and his fate was now unknown.

When Song Ling arrived at the city gate, Liu Yun was startled and took fright. After confirming his identity, Liu Yun immediately fell to his knees, saying again and again that Ye Kun had already betrayed the country and that Pingcheng was in imminent peril.

The only person here who knew the truth was him alone.

Song Ling dropped his gaze and deliberated for a good while. Liu Yun finished speaking and was secretly calculating on his knees, having not yet come back to his senses, when he saw the Crown Prince extend a hand and draw a sword from the side, then in one clean, decisive motion, slash it across his throat.

Liu Yun pressed his hands to his throat, eyes wide with disbelief.

Blood poured wildly from between his fingers. He convulsed twice and fell to the ground without another sound.

This sudden thrust of the sword struck the crowd into complete silence. Song Ling, his expression unchanged, poured wine over the blade to wash it, and offered no lengthy explanation, only saying: “By the time I arrived, I had already ascertained the facts. Liu Yun has committed treason and is to be executed as the law demands!”

He had considered many ways to break the deadlock just now and found that there was no longer any opportunity to act gradually — Liu Yun had moved in haste, and his residence might still contain objects bearing evidence of his dealings with Wumang. But if he were allowed to come back to his senses, there was certain to be no evidence remaining.

He was the Crown Prince, and had never once crossed paths with Liu Yun — there was no grievance or hatred between them. Killing him so abruptly might provoke discontent among the generals, yet once the evidence came to light, all would fall silent, and the longer he waited, the less favorable it would be for restoring order.

Song Ling sheathed his sword and said in a steady voice: “I have come here under imperial command to inspect the border, and I pledge to ensure Pingcheng remains safe and unharmed.”

He called out the names of several Youzhou frontier officers from memory, dispatched them to reinforce Youyun He, and sent others to clear the city streets of rumors and calm the people. Some had initially been displeased at the sight of this young man killing so freely, but hearing the youth speak with measured composure and handle affairs with clear purpose — much more methodically than Liu Yun — and with the urgency of war pressing upon them, they could not help but put aside their contempt.

In the days that followed, with Yu Qiushi’s open and covert assistance, Song Ling moved through Pingcheng without obstruction. As he stood on the city walls, sword in hand, rallying a great chorus of voices from the people below, Yu Qiushi stood at his side and said quietly: “I had not imagined that Your Highness would prove to be a man of such passionate spirit.”

Yu Qiushi had considerable insight into governance, and these days of observing him at work left Song Ling full of admiration. When his father had originally wished to promote this man, it could truly be called the eye of a wise ruler recognizing talent.

Yet this man was so composed and inward-looking now — who could have foreseen that once elevated to high office, such an inward person would turn so fanatical and extreme?

“What sort of person did Lord Yu previously take me for?”

“Your Highness was gentle, just as the Emperor’s hopes for you — ‘the highest good is like water, benefiting all things without contention.’ Your gentleness has no sharp edges to it, and perhaps there was even an overly naive and childlike side.” Yu Qiushi considered carefully for a moment and answered. “But today I suddenly find I was mistaken. When a person is honed to the very utmost of sharpness, they can become gentle — because the more resolute one is, the more one has the footing for humility. And naivety… is not necessarily a bad thing. People must grow up, and those who do not lose this original hope as they grow are far better than those who drift through life in a muddle.”

He raised his head and said solemnly: “Your servant sincerely hopes Your Highness will never forget this.”

“The same to you, Lord Yu,” Song Ling replied steadily. “Do you know why Father has been deliberately keeping you at a distance? You are the eldest son of your family, bearing too much responsibility and too heavy a burden. Under such weight, if fortune smiles on you as well, it is all too easy to become arrogant and lose your way. If you can understand the good intentions behind this hardship, then this trust has not been placed in vain.”

If earlier, when he had spoken of the examination essay, Yu Qiushi had still harbored some doubt, this speech now left him with no room for disbelief.

Song Ling watched the faint redness that crept into his eyes and felt a jumble of emotions.

But now there was no time for Song Ling to brew tea and discuss the ways of the world with Yu Qiushi any further. As the two were speaking, a soldier came rushing up the city wall and cried out with joy: “Your Highness! This battle has been won — all forces return in triumph!”

Wumang had never had the power to cross Youyun He. Upon learning of Liu Yun’s death, knowing the plan was exposed, his forces naturally collapsed in defeat. Searching Liu Yun’s residence, they found his letters to the enemy — they needed only to wait for everyone to return and use this to clear away the false charges against Ye Kun.

The battle losses were few, and even the Ye Family troops who had fought in the initial engagement returned to Pingcheng one by one. But the expressions on their faces were not as joyful as the others. After asking, Song Ling learned that not all of them had come back — for Ye Kun, provoked by Wumang, had been captured by him three days ago, and his fate was unknown.

The Ye Family soldiers wished to find and recover their young general, yet though the Etru had been defeated in battle, their defenses remained tight. How were they to rescue him?

Upon hearing this, Song Ling, heedless of everyone’s attempts to stop him, spurred his horse out toward the Youyun He battlefield.

He had to bring back that eldest son of the Ye Family, the one who had never become Chang Zhao.

The journey was one day; the negotiations with Wumang took two more. Fortunately, he understood Wumang well and knew what words would work on him. Wumang was still young at this time and had only met him a few times; in the end, he was outmaneuvered and agreed to release Ye Kun.

Song Ling had also considered whether he might take this opportunity to eliminate Wumang and cut off future trouble at the root, but there was simply no opening to do so, and he had no choice but to let it go.

It did not matter. They still had a long road of confrontations ahead. Unless he could make the northern tribes submit from the bottom of their hearts, they would never bow their heads and resume paying tribute. He rode on horseback to the Etru prison to receive Ye Kun. The Etru had intentionally tried to win over this renowned young general of the north, and so though they had subjected him to harsh punishment, they had not wounded him to the core.

Under the blazing sun of the northern desert, Song Ling finally saw clearly the face that belonged to Ye Kun.

Not injured, not disguised, though streaked with blood — those sword-sharp brows and star-bright eyes still held the fearless spirit of youth.

The Ye Family soldiers who had accompanied him all called out tearfully: “Young General!”

“Eldest Young Master!”

Ye Kun paid them no heed. With great difficulty, one step at a time, he made his way to stand before Song Ling, then knelt down: “Your servant… pays respects to His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince. May Your Highness… enjoy ten thousand years of peace and prosperity.”

His voice was hoarse, and as he spoke, blood-laced foam spilled from the corner of his lips.

Song Ling crouched down and steadied his battered arm.

During all the days Ye Kun had been held by Wumang, no matter what cruel tortures were inflicted upon him, he had never once been afraid. The one thing he feared was that voice: “They have long since sealed your name with the charge of treason. Even if you return now, all you will receive is everyone’s contempt and disgrace.”

And now, having just come out of that prison, with no knowledge yet of what had happened in Pingcheng, he saw this Crown Prince who was several years his junior — and suddenly felt his eyes grow wet. Thousands of words choked in his throat, and in the end only one sentence came out:

“Your servant… has not betrayed our country!”

“Your Highness, your servant has not betrayed our country!”

“I know,” he heard the Crown Prince answer in a trembling voice. “Of course you have not.”

“You are the hero of the northern territory. You are the hero of the Great Yin.”

03 · The Man Stands Across the River in the Sound of Rain

With all matters at the frontier resolved satisfactorily and the Ye Family troops settled, Song Ling rode at full speed back to the capital. Before he had even arrived, he saw a familiar figure in the distance on top of the city gate, waving toward him: “Crown Prince, big brother!”

“Weiwei!”

He dismounted and ran toward her, and upon seeing Luowei, he lifted her up and spun her around several times.

The twelve-year-old girl was no longer as oblivious to his embraces as she had been before, and so he watched as her face flushed faintly pink, yet she puffed up her cheeks in complaint: “Why are you half a month late returning? For this entire half month I came here every day to wait for you — I’ve been worn out.”

He took her hand and walked with her into the city: “Foolish girl, there was no need to come every single day — when I come back, I’ll naturally come looking for you.”

Luowei said: “I wasn’t just thinking—”

She stopped before finishing, and only looked him up and down, commenting: “How is it that the border sun couldn’t even tan you? Such favoritism.”

Song Ling understood perfectly the unspoken meaning behind her words, so he did not press further. He smiled and reached out to tousle Luowei’s hair, but she turned her head away: “Don’t do that — I spent ages on it and you’ll mess it all up.”

So she had looked like this at that time too — so vivid and alive.

Song Ling gazed at her chattering profile, and suddenly thought of that cold, poised Empress on the imperial palanquin.

Spring blossoms had opened so gloriously, and she had passed by him at the boundary between light and shadow — dignified and composed, distant and serene.

He felt a pain he could not quite name, and so he drew her closer to his side, hesitating for a moment before finally saying: “Weiwei, come to the palace with me.”

“All right. But the sun is getting low — I had thought I would enter the palace tomorrow to pay my respects to His Majesty and Her Majesty. Shall I come today?” She agreed at once, but seeing his expression was grave, she sobered somewhat. “Is something the matter?”

Song Ling gave a small nod.

…

The two entered the palace together. Before they even reached the Qianfang Hall, they encountered Song Lan standing waiting by the side of the path.

Luowei spotted him first, bounced up and waved, and asked happily: “Zi Lan, why are you here?”

Song Lan answered with a smile: “I heard the royal brother was returning and wanted to see you both. I hadn’t expected elder sister to be here as well — I thought you wouldn’t enter the palace today.”

As he spoke, he turned to look at Song Ling, and unexpectedly, that one glance frightened him so badly that he involuntarily stepped back a pace.

He was absolutely certain: a moment ago, when Song Ling had looked at him, there had been a flash of unconcealed murderous intent in his eyes.

How had that murderous intent arisen? Could it be that Song Ling had learned of how he had once used Yanyu to lure Luowei to the Lanxun Garden? But Song Ling had always been compassionate — even knowing that, why would he harbor killing intent over such a thing?

Song Lan’s fingers trembled slightly. He summoned his nerve and looked again, only to find that murderous intent had completely vanished, replaced by a complex expression carrying a thread of anguish.

The instant he caught sight of Song Lan, Song Ling was nearly dragged out by this innocent and harmless face to awaken the demons that lay sleeping within him. Song Lan raised his eyes to look over, and across that childlike face a twisted, smiling visage suddenly superimposed itself — the adult youth pointing at the sky with a gentle, lilting voice: “Take one last look at that moon, for you will never see it again.”

The hallucination scattered in an instant. Song Ling unconsciously relaxed the hand that had moved to grip his sword. He looked again at this face, and the last words spoken before his death echoed in his ears — I waited for you both for so long, one year, two years, and every year on my birthday I prayed.

Heaven sent all things into the world to leave me alone. Nothing about me could compare to you — who would willingly stand in the shadows, sword in hand, serving as a hero’s faceless attendant?

He did not know whether the timing now was already too late or not — yet when he faced Song Lan, all he could think of was those frenzied, desperate words, and along with them a tangle of questions that could not be resolved: was he innocent now or was he not? If he was not yet the person he would become — was there still a chance for him to begin again?

“Zi Lan,” said Song Ling at last, after a long pause, “come with me to pay our respects to Mother.”

Song Lan twisted the hem of his robe and hesitated, answering in a small voice: “But Mother… might not wish to see me.”

His mother bore a vague and shadowy grudge against the Empress, accused of killing her son. Because of this, no one had taken him in during his early childhood. For fear of offending the Empress, Song Lan had never taken a single step inside the Qionghua Hall and had avoided every palace banquet at which the Empress was present — until now, not once in his life.

“It doesn’t matter,” Song Ling said firmly. “Come.”

Luowei also said: “Mother won’t blame you for it.”

Song Lan passed through the withered crabapple trees of the Qionghua Hall and made his way inside, trembling. Before he could even see clearly the face of the Empress lying ill in her bed, his knees gave way and he knelt down, paying his respects with great care: “Your servant wishes Her Majesty the Empress ten thousand years of peace!”

The Empress coughed once and asked: “Weiwei, this is…”

Luowei leaned close and whispered something in her ear. Song Lan kept his head down, not daring to lift it — yet he heard the Empress say gently: “To think this is the first time I’ve laid eyes on you. Rise.”

…

Luowei took Song Lan to pay his respects to the Empress. Song Ling, for his part, stayed in the Qionghua Hall only briefly before taking his leave and heading to the Qianfang Hall.

The evidence for identifying Song Lan’s birth mother as an Etru spy was not hard to find. The key was to act before anyone was prepared. He remembered that when he had been “Ye Tingyan,” Yanyu had spoken to him about an arrowhead in the Empress Dowager’s palace that bore strange markings.

The Empress had kept Luowei and Song Lan in the hall for the evening meal and sent a palace attendant to invite him as well. He declined with the excuse that he had an urgent matter to report, and privately led the imperial guards to search the Lanxun Garden. The Emperor, upon seeing the arrowhead bearing the Etru butterfly totem, deliberated for a long while before finally having the person brought to the Qionghua Hall.

The sun had set, and the moon had not yet risen. Between heaven and earth stretched a vast expanse of emptiness. Song Ling walked through the withered crabapple trees and felt, in a trance, as though it were the former life that had been the illusion.

He planted his feet on the earth, beneath the fathomless dark expanse of the sky above, vast as all creation, where no one could say who came first and who came after. The myriad aspects of human life were likewise impossible to judge for right or wrong. Only the moment of weaving through the play of flower shadows was real and palpable. He bowed his head and saw a few lush clusters of crape myrtle growing at the base of a tree, and thought: no matter what changes come, may the heart remain as passionate and pure as the crape myrtle. He hoped he himself could do so.

By the time he came back to his senses, the great drama within the hall had already played itself out to the final scene.

Song Lan’s birth mother, seeing all was exposed, admitted without fuss to everything she had done over the years, bit down on the poison concealed between her teeth, and took her own life. Before dying, she left the Empress with a single, strange parting laugh: “Take a guess — is this child really of your blood?”

The Empress erupted into a fit of coughing and nearly fell unconscious. The Emperor stepped forward to support her, wavered at length, and at last called for the imperial physician, preparing to test Song Lan’s blood lineage.

Luowei stood there dumbfounded, clutching his arm, seemingly wishing to say something, yet holding back. He guessed what was in Luowei’s heart and said quietly: “It’s still for Mother to decide.”

Song Lan knelt on the ground, his complexion deathly pale. Though it was the end of summer, he was trembling as if in a deep chill.

Was that the origin of that look? His mother in all but name had turned out to be an Etru spy. Before dying, she had thrown down a gift wrapped in honey and arsenic — just who was his father?

From childhood to now, not even in his dreams had he dared to fantasize about such good fortune. If he was merely the son of an Etru spy and, with her death, was simply buried away in some forgotten corner of the palace grounds, perhaps the pain would not be so overwhelming. Yet she had chosen to leave behind those words, sending him a hazy and elusive hope.

If only he extended his hand — if only he extended his hand!

Paradise and oblivion lay separated by the thinnest of lines. Caught between them, he felt only an anguish that was like being sliced apart and torn in two.

Who would dare make such a wager?

“Your Majesty—”

“Mother!”

The moment Song Lan reached out his hand, Luowei could not hold herself back and cried out. Song Ling also called out at the same time. The Emperor’s face fell with sorrow, yet he said nothing. In the moment of stunned silence that followed, Song Lan overturned the golden basin of water that stood before him, then threw himself against a nearby pillar.

No one knew where he had found such strength. Both Luowei and Song Ling watched it happen before their eyes and could feel the absolute, solitary despair of this child’s will to die. Alas, the two of them were too far away — even throwing themselves forward with all their might, they could not stop him in time.

At the most critical juncture, the Empress, who had not uttered a word all this while, suddenly leaned forward and took Song Lan into her arms with both hands. The force of his lunge toppled her off the bed. She fell to the ground, the hem of her robes completely soaked through by the water from the golden basin.

“There is no need to verify anything. I know my own child!” The Empress held him tightly, refusing to let go. Song Lan’s whole body went rigid. Only after a long moment did he feel tears falling onto the back of his neck. “He is my child. He cannot be of Etru blood. If they had not prevented me from seeing him, I would have known from the start… Zi Lan, Zi Lan, all these years, you have suffered so.”

The imperial physician received a glance from the Emperor and hurriedly withdrew. The Emperor rose to support the two of them, his voice breaking: “My love, weeping harms the body.”

In this act, the Empress declared that regardless of whether Song Lan was truly her own child by blood, she would acknowledge him as such, and never again permit anyone to verify his lineage — the weight of national enmity and personal grief was simply too heavy. He was still so young; how could he bear the consequences?

Song Ling looked upon Song Lan, now cradled in the Empress’s arms, at last unable to hold back his grief and crying out aloud, and thought: so he was only eleven years old now.

He still did not know whether what he had done was right or wrong. But at this moment, he was willing, for the sake of the thing Luowei had always steadfastly believed in, to believe in Song Lan’s tears.

That was also what he himself believed in.

The Empress insisted on keeping Song Lan in the Qionghua Hall that night. In the deep of the night, Song Ling escorted Luowei to Song Yaofeng’s palace quarters. Luowei had cried until she was exhausted and kept hiccupping. He carried her on his back and would not let the attendants follow, walking slowly and unhurriedly into the depths of the palace grounds.

As they passed by a stretch of crimson walls, Song Ling looked up and saw a full and perfect moon, then said without warning: “Let me tell you a story.”

Luowei wiped her tears and answered: “All right.”

Song Ling said: “In truth, I have already lived a lifetime. I have come from another world.”

He had thought Luowei would laugh off his words as nonsense, but to his surprise, Luowei grew immediately anxious and asked: “Then where has the brother I had before gone?”

Song Ling was caught between laughter and exasperation: “I am still myself — nothing has changed. I am only saying that I am now extraordinarily gifted and can know all things that are yet to come.”

Luowei, full of curiosity: “Then tell me — what will happen in the future?”

Song Ling then slowly and unhurriedly told her everything. By the time they arrived at the entrance of Song Yaofeng’s palace quarters, Luowei was so frightened she was left in a daze: “Why would you invent such a story!”

Song Ling did not answer, only said: “It’s fine. In any case, it’s just a story I invented — none of it will come to pass.”

Luowei asked anxiously: “But what if it does? You would really…”

She pressed her lips together and changed what she was going to say: “Even so, the story you invented still has traces one can follow. No matter what happens, we must go on living well — living with resolve, with goodness, with gentleness.”

Song Ling said softly: “Yes, of course.”

04 · Tomorrow I’ll Loosen My Hair and Play Upon a Small Boat

Not long after, Ye Kun was summoned back to Biandu to be honored and rewarded.

When Song Ling arrived at the Hall of Virtue, he happened to overhear Luowei and Song Yaofeng speaking beneath the eaves.

Song Yaofeng said hesitantly: “… Perhaps he doesn’t even remember me at all.”

Luowei said: “Nonsense. The Crown Prince told me himself that the young general still remembers your monthly rose.”

Song Yaofeng said: “I wonder when Father will arrange a match for me. Will he listen to what I want? I’ve heard that in former times princesses would be betrothed as young as eleven or twelve. Ningle refused to come back from Xuzhou just to avoid this — had I known, I would have gone there too.”

Luowei said: “Uncle is such a good person. He’ll certainly find you a match you’re happy with.”

She drew closer and said mischievously: “Now that you mention it, between the young general and the second son of the Yu Family — which do you prefer? I heard that at the spring banquet, the second son made a fool of himself falling into the pond just to make you smile — truly a devoted and tender soul. If the young general still remembers your roses, that’s a worthy entrusting as well.”

Song Yaofeng said in distress: “I truly don’t know.”

A moment later, she had a sudden inspiration: “What if… I married both of them?”

Song Ling nearly burst out laughing. He heard Luowei clap the window frame with a loud slap, and just when he thought Luowei was only surprised, he heard her exclaim at the top of her voice: “What a brilliantly perfect idea!”

The two immediately began to expand on this notion. Song Ling listened for a long while, then smiled and turned around — and found Song Lan standing just behind him.

Seeing him turn, Song Lan did not smile and stack on pleasantries as he had done in the past, and did not speak. The two faced each other in silence for a long time before Song Ling heard him call out in a small, tentative voice: “… Brother.”

Song Ling walked forward and clapped him on the shoulder.

The years that followed passed very quickly. Beginning with that battle at Youyun He that arrived earlier than scheduled, everything had undergone tremendous change because of his different choices.

Ye Kun had not died, and continued to guard the border. After a few more years, Song Ling sent Yan Lang to Youzhou as well.

Yan Lang and Ye Kun got along exceptionally well, and within a short span of time they rose to fame with a single campaign. In the year Song Ling ascended the throne, the two of them won the Battle of Settling the North ten years ahead of schedule, and were granted official titles surpassing even those of their forebears.

Song Yaofeng still married Yu Suiyun, but this time it was the Yu second son who had sought her hand with devoted sincerity. Ye Kun sent every last phoenixflower in bloom throughout the Etru royal court as a wedding gift for the princess, yet did not himself return to Biandu.

After Su Zhourdu died of illness, Yu Qiushi was elevated to Chancellor, and proved to be remarkably aligned with Song Ling’s intentions. After his second son became the princess’s consort and his youngest daughter was betrothed into the family of the Crown Prince’s maternal relatives, Yu Qiushi presented a memorial to the Emperor, stating that to cut off the disaster of powerful in-laws, no member of the Yu Family’s later generations would be permitted to enter government service. The Emperor did not consent and set the memorial aside for the time being.

Song Zhiyu ultimately did study under Assistant Minister Gan, and Song Qi finally got his wish, frequently hosting gatherings of talented scholars, drinking and composing poetry.

The Thorn-of-the-Tang Incident did not recur, and so the more than a thousand people implicated in the Jintian poems were likewise safe, living out their days in peace. Yang, Zuo, and Liu all successfully entered government service and became close friends with Xu Dan.

In the third year of the Tianshuo reign, the Crown Prince was wed. A general amnesty was proclaimed throughout the realm.

In the fourth year after his wedding, the Empress passed away. Song Lan knelt at the bier for three days and three nights, then presented a petition requesting to watch over the imperial mausoleum in mourning.

After two years at the imperial mausoleum, he received his fief and set out for his territory. Luowei and Song Ling went together to see him off.

Song Ling had never imagined that, grown up this way, Song Lan would cultivate a temperament that was warm and easygoing.

Before parting, Song Lan played a piece called “Lady of the Xiang” on the boat — fragrant orchid grasses lining the shores of Lishui and Yuanshui, the sound of flowing water murmuring and rippling — a beautiful melody, though whether it was played for the departed Empress or for Luowei, no one could say.

He had taken after the late Empress in his love of music and dance. He had already composed several pieces that had spread throughout the empire. Song Qi wrote lyrics for his compositions, which spread all the more widely. In any teahouse throughout the south of the Yangtze, one could hear the sound of familiar music.

The young lord played his piece to its end, then stood at the prow of the ship, facing into the wind, and sailed away into the radiance of the morning sun.

Song Ling and Luowei fulfilled their wish ten years ahead of time. Though they had not left an earth-shaking name in the annals of history, the age of great prosperity had returned, and it was not a life wasted after all.

The pair of snow geese that Fang Hezhi had raised continued to circle above the pavilion. The echo within Yanshan was vast and open. Luowei walked with him hand in hand along the mountain path and suddenly said: “Last night I had a dream…”

Song Ling asked: “What kind of dream?”

Luowei answered: “A very long time ago, you had already told me about it — I just didn’t believe you then.”

After a pause, she added: “I’ve made up my mind to go down the mountain and buy a canopy dyed in the color of azure orchid.”

Author’s Note:

I had originally wanted to write about Weiwei’s rebirth, but then I realized that for two clever people like them, it would be exactly the same regardless of which one was reborn — as long as they could foresee what was to come, they would be able to make the most correct choices.

After pulling out the timeline I found that immediately after the rebirth they were incredibly busy — barely any time to sleep — and so I decided it was better to let the Crown Prince suffer through this one after all.