The night wind had cut through to the bone — it was already well past midnight.

Wei Han said with a smile, “The Prince ought to be back before the secret edict goes out, catching Song Huai’an completely off guard! By the estimated distance of travel, he should arrive within three days.”

I gave a vague smile. “You have forgotten the heavy rains of the past few days… They will certainly impede the march — he may not arrive within three days.”

Wei Han fell silent, then nodded. “Even if not within three days, a few more days of holding on should pose no difficulty.”

I nodded and turned my gaze sideways toward the distant rebel encampment. I could not tell where Song Huai’an was concealing himself, or whether he too was gazing toward the palace gates.

There was a faint coolness in my heart, mingled with a hidden ache.

Such a man as he — he never smiled lightly, but on the occasions when he smiled at me, there would appear in his eyes the bright, open expression of a child.

I closed my eyes and did all I could to drive away the hovering shadows at the bottom of my heart.

“It appears the rebel forces will not stir again tonight. Wang Fei need not be troubled — please go back to the rear palace to rest.”

Wei Han cast his gaze downward, his expression mild, yet I caught a flicker of something that could not bear to continue looking — passing through the depths of his eyes.

“Very well.” I nodded and smiled, and turned to leave.

Along the way, the spear-bearing soldiers on guard bowed their heads one after another, respectful and solemn — in their eyes, I was probably a formidable woman, or perhaps some of them privately thought of me as a pitiable woman.

In the past, Right Chancellor Wen Zongshen had submitted a memorial impeaching Xiao Qi, with over a thousand words in a sweeping enumeration of Xiao Qi’s crimes, which my aunt had dismissed as absurd. Yet one line had stuck in my memory ever since: “This man is devious in his judgments, suspicious and cruel in his nature, severe and merciless in his conduct — his heart is that of a jackal and a horned owl, plain for all to see.”

In the world’s eyes, I had married such a frightening man.

And this very same frightening man had always been shielding me, fighting side by side with me, seizing this great empire.

I am deeply certain that my Che’er will never become a second Zidan, and my Xiaoxiao will never need to bear the hardships I have borne — because their father is Xiao Qi. Under the whole of heaven, only he could build for us a place without wind and rain.

Returning to the rear palace, I lay down and dozed for a short while. Outside the curtain the night lay thick and dark, already approaching the fourth watch.

In those moments just before the coming of dawn, the night is at its coldest and darkest. Wrapped in a brocade quilt, I still felt a thread-thin chill pressing in on me from all sides. After enduring the better part of this night, drowsiness finally came to claim me.

In my dreams came a thunderous boom, as though the very earth shook and the building swayed.

I jolted awake and lurched upright. Outside the curtain the sky was already lit with towering flames and the clamor of battle cries was deafening.

The rebel forces were storming the gates!

I threw on my outer robe and immediately rushed out the door. Firelight had already stained half the sky red.

“Wang Fei, be careful!” My personal guards came rushing up.

“When did the assault begin?” Before the last syllable had left my mouth, another earth-shaking boom erupted, and the ground beneath my feet shook in response.

I stopped and pressed my hand to my wildly beating chest. The night sky, flushed red by firelight, seemed on the verge of burning, pressing down heavily upon me.

“Just moments ago, the rebel forces began a full assault on the palace gates.” The guard stood behind me, his voice steady and calm.

At the top of the city walls, the fire blazed fierce, the battle cries shook the heavens. Through the shriek of arrows and crash of stones, rapid as a violent downpour.

I ran all the way and by the time I ascended the sluice tower I was drenched with sweat through my layers of clothing. One look was enough to steady my anxious heart.

Taking advantage of the guard changeover, the rebel forces had launched a lightning strike on the most weakly defended Cheng’en Gate, using massive logs as battering rams to pound the palace doors — logs so large it took four men to encircle them with their arms.

Cheng’en Gate had caught fire during the Lantern Festival many years ago. The imperial astronomers had determined that the position of this gate conflicted with the Fire trigram, and so it had been demolished and rebuilt.

The rebuilt Cheng’en Gate was exquisitely carved and resplendent in gold and jade, yet the needs of defense had been overlooked — no killing ground passage had been set between the inner and outer gates, and the sluice tower above was effectively useless. Once the gate was rammed open, a direct path into the western inner palace lay unobstructed.

Fortunately, Song Huai’an had been in charge of palace renovation at one time and knew this vulnerability intimately. But Pang Kui had anticipated this — he had already deployed all of the over eight hundred elite crossbowmen of the Iron Crossbow Battalion in full force at this gate. Powerful crossbows fired in unison, and swift arrows poured down like rain, enveloping the palace gates in an impenetrable hail. Though the rebel soldiers were fierce and valiant, they could not withstand this dense barrage of powerful crossbows, and retreated in confusion to a hundred paces away. Yet the moment the hail of arrows eased, the rebel forces surged forward again, advancing behind massive shields, wave upon wave.

The battering log, sheltered behind thick shields, gathered its force again and again, slamming into the palace gate with tremendous violence.

Pang Kui and Wei Han placed themselves at the forefront of their men and stood at the top of the city walls, directing the Iron Crossbow Battalion’s counterattack.

Under the furious assault, the Iron Crossbow Battalion’s five-column formation fired in turns, each rotation without a single moment of rest. The rebel bowmen and crossbowmen returned fire in upward arcs at the city walls, and from time to time soldiers were struck by arrows and fell — only to be immediately replaced by the next man.

The intense exchange continued until just before dawn.

The Iron Crossbow Battalion, fighting from higher ground, gradually gained the advantage. The rebel soldiers attempting to force their way with the battering log fell in clusters of arrows — most were shot down before ever reaching the city gate. The momentum of the rebel assault thus flagged and faltered.

The last frenzied wave of assault finally subsided at the approach of dawn.

The rebel forces’ first night assault had temporarily failed.

“Two more days!” Wei Han, his eyes red, his sword still unsheathed, strode forward and shouted loudly to the soldiers, “The rebel forces’ morale is broken — hold on two more days and Prince Yuzhang’s army will arrive!”

After the guard changeover, Pang Kui and I reviewed the soldiers together. Mercifully, casualties were few.

The fallen and the gravely wounded were carried away. The lightly wounded were bandaged on the spot, and soldiers rotating off duty dropped to the ground where they stood and fell into exhausted sleep.

Once the battle horn sounded, they would bravely rise again, fighting to the death to resist the rebel forces’ next attack!

Looking at their bloodstained battle armor and their faces slack with exhaustion in sleep, I could only quietly clench my fists.

These young soldiers — even the rebel soldiers cut down below the city walls — should have been heroes defending their homes and their country. Their blood ought to have been shed on the desert sands of the frontier, not wasted in vain beneath the feet of the Son of Heaven.

I walked past row upon row of soldiers resting between shifts, pausing frequently to crouch down and look over their wounds.

The torn and gaping wounds, the crimson blood and grime — real death and real pain, right before my eyes.

How long must this slaughter continue?

When would it ever reach an end!

In this moment, I missed Xiao Qi with an intensity that shook me to my core. I yearned desperately for him to appear before me now and bring this brutal carnage to an end!

The morning light was clear and bright. After a night of rain, the world was washed clean.

The rebel forces were arrayed in sharp formation, like a tide of black iron, with the cold glint of weapons faintly flickering in the morning light. After a night of fierce battle, there was still not the slightest sign of disorder. Both sides were making use of the brief morning respite to gather their strength for the next round.

Who could know how long this brief moment of peace would last.

Wei Han insisted on having guards escort me back to Fengchi Palace to rest.

After last night’s fierce battle, though a curfew had been announced within the palace — all halls sealed, strict prohibition on going out — the intensity of the fighting could no longer be concealed.

All along my path I saw palace servants with pale, frightened faces, as though catastrophe were upon them. Since the revolt of the princes in former years, there had been no such brazen storming of the palace gates. Even so, all the palace servants maintained orderly conduct with no sign of chaos. Chief Steward Wang Fu, an old palace servant who had loyally served the Wang family for many years, appeared to be somewhat muddling along in ordinary times, but in a crisis he showed a firm hand, holding the palace firmly in order.

Wang Fu came hurrying to Fengchi Palace to see me, immaculately dressed, his bearing composed and unhurried as ever.

“Though yesterday’s events were extraordinary, the palace remained orderly and everyone fulfilled their duties — you have done well.” I spoke with a slight smile and rose, and asked mildly, “Were Their Majesties disturbed?”

Wang Fu bowed his head. “His Majesty has been absorbed in his writing of late and pays no heed to worldly affairs.”

I was quiet for a moment. “Truly pays no heed?”

“That is so.” Wang Fu paused briefly, then with a faint smile lowered his voice. “Within Zhaoyang Palace all is as usual. Only Her Highness received a fright, and her condition has been somewhat unstable. She has already taken her medicine and should be well enough.”

I lowered my gaze quietly — not knowing in my heart whether I felt sadness or joy, fortune or regret.

Hu Yao had suffered the grief of losing her child and the ruin of her clan, and had come close to dying of illness. Though the imperial physicians had done everything they could to save her life and she had survived, she had lost her mind entirely — spending her days in a daze, recognizing only Zidan and her personal attendants, with no awareness of anyone else. When she saw me it was as though she did not know me at all.

After the little prince’s death, I had no longer had the courage to see Zidan. He too had fallen into silence — living in seclusion in his sleeping chambers, buried in his writing. He no longer asked after anything around him. Aside from occasionally inquiring about Hu Yao’s illness, he ceased to mention anyone at all.

Since boyhood he had always harbored a great wish: to compile all the outstanding poetry and prose of eminent figures since the founding of this dynasty into an anthology, so that it might be passed down to posterity, so that the splendor of literature would not be lost, and that elegance and refinement would be eternally recorded. This had been Zidan’s lifelong greatest dream. He had once said: the imperial succession, however great, comes eventually to its end; but the written word, passed on through the ages, knows no extinction. If one could fulfill this wish in one’s lifetime, there would be no regrets even in death.

That he now drove himself day and night in his writing told me that all desire had likely been extinguished in him, that he was simply waiting to complete his wish before calmly meeting his end.

I gave a melancholy smile, casually picked up the teacup and tasted it, and frowned at the palace maid standing at attention nearby. “The tea has gone cold.”

The palace maid hurriedly took the teacup and withdrew.

I turned sideways, hands clasped behind my back, and said quietly, “The west annexe of Chongming Hall has been abandoned for some time. Choose an auspicious day and have it renovated.”

Wang Fu was startled. His smile fell away and he bowed his head deeply. “At Wang Fei’s command, this old servant will obey to the point of death.”

“Very good.” I looked at him steadily for a moment and smiled faintly. “You may proceed with a free hand — I will see to everything.”

“This old servant is ignorant — he does not know when it would be fitting to set an auspicious day,” Wang Fu said, his low, thin voice carrying a trace of tension.

I bit my lip. “Within the next two days.”

“As commanded.” Wang Fu said nothing more. He prostrated himself before me in a deep kowtow, then rose and withdrew from the hall.

When he had gone well away, I steadied myself against the armchair and slowly sat down. I could no longer suppress the ache in my chest. Thread by thread it spread outward — dull, slow, and bone-deep.

— The secret of Chongming West Annexe: I had thought I would never need it in all my life — yet here it was, the day had come after all for it to be of use.

I ate a little breakfast, then lay back with eyes closed on the brocade couch, drifting between sleep and waking as I was roused again and again.

Before my eyes, shadows shifted and swam — now Zidan’s reproachful gaze, now Xiao Qi’s furious countenance.

What woke me yet again was not the clamor of battle cries from the direction of Yongding Gate, but the sound of the hall doors being locked.

“What is happening?” I rose hurriedly, startled, and asked the palace maids at my side. The assembled palace maids were equally at a loss.

I heard the palace guards outside the door report from behind the closed doors: “We have been ordered to guard Wang Fei’s safety. Wang Fei is asked to remain inside the hall for the time being and not to go out under any circumstances.”

“Wang Fei, save me —” A piercing, anguished cry suddenly came from outside the hall. It was Yuxiu’s voice. Before I could respond, that voice had abruptly cut off.

“Yuxiu! Where are you?” I rushed to the doors and peered through the carved lattice openings. I could only see the backs of two guards at the far end of the corridor, with a patch of sapphire blue caught between them, already being led away into the distance.

I stood stunned for a moment, then suddenly came to my senses. With every ounce of my strength I pounded wildly on the hall doors. “Wei Han! How dare you —”

The guards outside the door ignored my rage, completely unmoved. The palace maids at my side came rushing to hold me back, entreating me again and again to calm down.

My whole body was shaking. It was a long moment before I could find my voice. “He’s going to — he’s going to kill Yuxiu and the children…”

The rebel forces had attacked Yongding Gate again, and at this moment Wei Han had probably fought himself into a blood frenzy — and had seized on my moment of rest to bind Yuxiu and her children and bring them to the city wall. Knowing I would certainly intervene, he had simply locked the hall doors.

Never in my life had I loathed myself as I did in this moment — why had I been so ruthless as to arrest the Song family’s elderly and young, drawing them into this calamity? In order to cut off the succession dispute over the throne’s heir, the little prince had to die — though I had been ruthless, I had not regretted it. But these members of the Song family were truly innocent. Even if Song Huai’an had rebelled, one could not implicate his entire family. Arresting them and bringing them to the palace had been intended only to make Song Huai’an hesitate to act — I had never intended for them to truly be harmed. Yuxiu had already been ruined for life because of me. If she and her children were now to lose their lives as a result…

I dared not let myself think any further. I yanked out the short sword from my sleeve and, without a second thought, hacked at the hall doors.

Wood chips flew in all directions. The elaborately carved rosewood doors, under the edge of this sword that cut through iron like mud, sent splinters scattering in all directions despite numerous slashes — yet the doors could not easily be destroyed. The guards and palace maids were so alarmed by my actions that some screamed and some fell to their knees, yet no one dared step forward to stop me.

After a frenzied bout of chopping, my strength collapsed. I slumped against the doors, panting in violent heaves — and found myself still helpless against them.

I gritted my teeth and said fiercely, “If you do not open the doors, I will have every last one of you put to death by slow slicing!”

The palace servants and guards knew my ways well and knew I meant what I said. Every one of them was stricken with terror, and they fell to their knees begging for mercy.

“If you do not want to die, open the doors!” I said coldly.

The guards dared not hesitate any further and immediately opened the doors.

I ran at full speed toward Yongding Gate, hating only that the road beneath my feet was so long, that a life hung by a thread in this very instant, begging only that heaven would not let me commit an irreparable error.

From above Yongding Gate, the cries of a child drifted toward me from afar.

Heedless of everything, I rushed up to the city wall. The soldiers on both sides were so alarmed by the sight of me — hair wild, sword in hand — that not one dared to block my way.

Yuxiu had been pinned to the city wall by two soldiers. Beside her were Song Huai’an’s aged mother and his two sons. Even the youngest daughter, just two years old, was held up in the arms of one soldier, waving her tiny hands and crying without cease.

“Stop — at once!” I called out with every last reserve of my strength, then could hold myself upright no longer and sank to my knees on the ground.

Yuxiu had already heard my voice and lunged forward in a frenzied struggle, crying out, “Wang Fei, save us! Save the children — don’t harm them —”

My chest heaved in chaos, and for a moment I could not speak. I only stared at Wei Han with cold fury.

He stamped his foot. “Wang Fei! What is there to discuss about justice with a man of such wolfish ambition? You will not kill his wife and children, yet he wants to kill your daughter! Look down there!”

There was a booming sound in my ears and I lunged to the city wall — and saw with a shock that before the rebel forces below, Song Huai’an sat astride his horse with his spear leveled horizontally. Kneeling before his horse was a girl in plain white clothes, bound hand and foot, with hair loose over her shoulders — it was Qinzhi!

My vision went black and I nearly lost my footing.

Nanny Xu had taken Che’er and Xiaoxiao away; A’Yue had followed and taken Qinzhi as well, then gone to Prince Jiangxia’s residence to bring away my brother’s children and take them all together to Ci’an Temple.

Now Qinzhi had fallen into his hands. Could it be that A’Yue and Nanny Xu had also… My heart hammered wildly as I struggled to steady myself and force down my panic. If Che’er and the others had also been captured by Song Huai’an, it would not be Qinzhi alone bound before the army. There must have been an unexpected development along the way that led to her capture alone. With this thought, my heart settled a little — but one look at Qinzhi trussed up and humiliated, and my heart ached with fury once more. When she had been at my side, I had also showered her with care, though there had always been a certain emotional distance between us. Yet seeing her in this degraded and shamed condition now, I felt it as though it were my own flesh being cut — as though we were truly bound by blood.

Below the city, Song Huai’an slowly raised his head.

The midday sun fell on his silver helmet, and his features and expression were unreadable. Yet there was a barely perceptible killing intent pressing toward me.

“Princess Zhenyi,” Song Huai’an called out coldly, each word measured, reaching my ears cold and clear, “your mother Wang Fei is just ahead. Will you not ask her to open the palace gates and let you in?”

The Qinzhi kneeling on the ground suddenly lifted her head and shouted loudly, “I am not Princess Zhenyi! I am a maidservant of the Prince’s residence. Do not try to deceive people!”

The rebel forces broke into a commotion. Even the soldiers behind me were taken by surprise.

I bit down hard on my lip, holding back the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes.

Qinzhi, Qinzhi, you foolish child!

Song Huai’an was silent for a moment, then burst suddenly into a long peal of laughter. “Good, well done — a true Princess Zhenyi, unmistakably with the bearing of her mother!”

Qinzhi raised her head in fury. “You are talking nonsense! My mother is not Wang Fei. My mother died long ago!”

Her voice still held the trace of a child’s, yet each word reached me like a blade cutting into my heart.

Wei Han let out a great laugh. “An insignificant fake princess — how could she compare in value to your family of five lives?”

Song Huai’an’s voice came through cold and clear. “Life and death are determined by fate. If my wife and son are destined for a short life, I must trouble Wang Fei to send them on their way. Song is deeply grateful.”

Wei Han cursed, “This old soldier will hurl your daughter off the wall — let’s see if your heart, you treacherous dog, is made of flesh!”

Yuxiu screamed, “No! Huai’an, retreat — I beg you to retreat…”

Her words were not yet finished before Song Huai’an reached back, drew his bow, and loosed an arrow. It sliced through the air and grazed the side of Yuxiu’s ear, then sank deep into the wall.

Yuxiu’s remaining words died in her throat. She went still and silent, staring blankly down at the city below, looking as though she had been struck senseless.

“Tch!” Wei Han spat. “What a vicious heart!”

I closed my eyes and then spoke with resolve. “Let all troops hear clearly — the person below is not Princess Zhenyi!”

Wei Han was momentarily taken aback, then gave a cold nod. “This subordinate understands! Crossbow units —”

At his command, two rows of crossbowmen immediately took aim at the city below, covering Song Huai’an and Qinzhi within their range.

The rebel forces’ formation fell into disarray. Shields and armor surged forward to cover the two of them.

Yet Song Huai’an stood his ground with fearless defiance, his long spear swung horizontal, the three-edged spear tip pressed directly against Qinzhi’s back. “Madam Mou gave her life for the nation and entrusted her orphan daughter to Prince Yuzhang — and this is how she ends up?”

“Bring me a bow,” I said coldly.

It had been many years since I had drawn a bow. The archery that my uncle had taught me hand in hand had long grown rusty.

I gritted my teeth, nocked an arrow and drew the bow, taking aim at the figure below — with so little of my own strength, I naturally could not kill anyone. Yet I needed only the posture of one who could kill, and that would be enough.

Seeing me personally draw a bow and nock an arrow, everyone inside and outside the palace gates erupted in commotion.

I drew a deep breath, fixed my gaze on Song Huai’an below the city walls, and called out in a steady voice: “Never mind a false princess — even if the true princess were here, trading her life for yours would be a worthy exchange!”

Song Huai’an looked straight at me. For an instant, even the air seemed to freeze.

My arrowhead and his form connected in a line across the distance, bridging ten years of time and all the favors and loyalties of those years between us.