Beyond the curtains it was already dusk. The heavy rain had ceased at some point, leaving the world rinsed into a vast, crystalline clarity.

The capital still gleamed everywhere with its silk and splendor, as though the shadow of war had not yet fallen over it.

And yet, thunder always hides within the most placid of clouds.

The killing had descended quietly — shattering to the nerves in absolute silence. No one had noticed, and there had been no time to respond. Everything had already happened.

That morning, Hu Guangyuan had been ordered to the Chancellor’s residence to discuss affairs. The moment he stepped through the gate, the elite imperial guards lying in ambush seized him and had him escorted to the Court of Judicial Review.

Song Huai’an, bearing the Grand Empress Dowager’s seal that I controlled, brought men directly into the residence of the Marquis of Anming. He had the Marquis — still sleeping off a night of heavy drinking — taken into custody. The residence was placed under heavy guard inside and out, and a thorough search and confiscation of the entire household was carried out. Every item of property was registered and confiscated. Every member of the Xie household, from elderly servants of over sixty years to infants not yet one year old, was arrested and imprisoned.

In contrast to the sudden upheaval that had engulfed the Xie family, the Hu residence sank into a silence like death.

Song Huai’an had not yet made his move — only Hu Guangyuan had been taken, while the entire Hu household was placed under close surveillance. No news was permitted to leak out. Hu Guanglie was fighting away from the capital, completely cut off from any news from home and ignorant of whether fortune or calamity had fallen. The palace was entirely under my control; Empress Hu could barely protect herself. The Hu family did not dare to act rashly, and had no choice but to close their doors and wait — anxious and on edge, as if sitting on needles.

Three days later, the Marquis of Anming, Xie Yuan, was executed in public.

The entire court was shocked to its core.

“The Relief Administration has received a total of one million seven hundred and sixty thousand taels of donated silver,” said Xiao Yuxiu, tallying the accounts and setting down her brush with a long sigh.

A’Yue clicked her tongue. “Heavens — that’s enough for many years, surely!”

The two of them were overjoyed. I, however, could not bring myself to smile.

Incense smoke drifted through the room. All was serene, yet my thoughts were a tangle.

Exhausted, I closed my eyes, unwilling and unable to dwell on what lay before me — yet Zidan’s shadow clearly flickered across my mind.

What should I say to him —

Old Marquis Xie had a lifetime’s renown as a scholar, having written and compiled over three hundred volumes of historical records. From childhood I had held deep and respectful admiration for this elder. Yet people are not saints — even great heroes and great minds have their weaknesses. The Old Marquis was not merely greedy. He was also unable to let go of the aristocratic family’s pride, stubbornly maintaining the appearance of former glory. Though the family’s fortunes had long since declined, he continued to spend extravagantly, refusing to bow his head by a fraction.

That kind of lavish elegance and gilded indulgence — how could the Xie family’s empty treasury sustain it?

For all these years, Xiao Qi had worked hard to promote simplicity and frugality, reversing the centuries of decadence that had pervaded the dynasty. He had reduced the salaries of high officials, raised the wages of lower-ranked officials from humble backgrounds, filled the national treasury and military supplies, reduced taxes, and exempted labor conscription — compelling many clans accustomed to extravagance to greatly restrain themselves.

Though the Xie family had long been in decline, I had not imagined they had fallen to such a state — that they had sunk so low as to sustain themselves through corruption.

I absolutely could not believe the Old Marquis Xie was a villain of the worst sort. Yet the law of the state shows no mercy, and once a step is taken in the wrong direction, a lifetime is ruined.

All of it should have been watertight — yet what no one had anticipated was that Hu Guangyuan was dead.

Two hours earlier, he had seized a moment when the prison guard was not watching and dashed his head against a pillar, killing himself in the prison cell. Under the weight of his crimes, he had not actually faced a death sentence — he had been sentenced only to be branded and exiled to the remote south of Qian, banned from service for life. And yet he had hurled himself headlong into a stone pillar, his blood spattering the prison walls, choosing death to atone for his sins.

When I heard news of his death, I stood there stunned.

That frank and warm-hearted young man — the one who always laughed with a booming voice, who loved to race on horseback along the official roads, who would scratch his head and smile foolishly every time Xiao Qi scolded him… Whether his suicide was born of self-reproach and shame, or whether he chose to sacrifice one life rather than implicate his siblings — I would never know.

Song Huai’an stood in silent attendance at the side, saying nothing, his expression heavy.

“This is one person’s fate. Princess Consort, please do not blame yourself too deeply,” Lady Xu said gently to comfort me.

For a moment I was adrift, lost in silence, and after a long while said to Song Huai’an with a sigh, “Since the person is gone, there is no need to make things too difficult for the Hu family… After all, they are people of merit. Let the stain upon his name be spared.”

Hu Guangyuan’s body, after examination by the imperial physician, was announced to have died of a sudden relapse of an old illness.

Once the situation settled, I lifted the seal on the central palace and allowed the Hu family members to enter the palace and visit the Empress.

That same evening, word came from the palace that the Empress had collapsed in grief, taken to her bed with illness.

As for Hu Yao and the Hu family — by sentiment, by reason, by law — I did not know whether I should feel guilt.

I would rather she scold me with rage and hatred than watch her remain silent. Her silence, perhaps, was what was truly frightening.

I lay awake turning it over in my mind the entire night. In a half-waking dream I seemed to see Zidan, his face frost-pale, and then Hu Yao covered in blood, her hair unbound… I woke with a start, drenched in sweat, my garments soaked through.

I looked past the gauze bed curtains — by the look of it, around the fourth or fifth watch, the sky between darkness and dawn, desolate and bleak.

At this hour, Xiao Qi must already be on the training ground, riding and directing his troops.

I reached out and smoothed the silky brocade of his side of the bed. A whole night had passed, and that side remained empty and cold.

My eyes grew hot, and tears wet the pillow.

In these nine layers of palace halls, Hu Yao and I — the two most exalted women in all the world — faced circumstances that were astonishingly alike, yet utterly, profoundly different. What did it matter that she was the Empress? What did it matter that I was the Princess Consort of Prince Yuzhang? Before war, slaughter, separation, loneliness, illness, life and death — we were both innocent and helpless women.

I could not govern my own fate, yet I could still change the circumstances of others.

It was not that my heart was especially soft or kind. It was only this: do not do unto others what you would not have done unto yourself.

Three days later, I overrode Song Huai’an’s objections and gave the order to bring Zidan back from the detached palace.

After Zidan returned to the palace, his freedom of movement was still restricted and his daily life was monitored on all sides. But at least he could be with Hu Yao — with his wife and his child. He had her, and she had him — the two of them would no longer be alone.

After that, Hu Yao finally began to take her medicine, and her condition gradually improved.

As for me, I grew thinner day by day. No matter how much nourishment I took, there was no visible improvement.

The imperial physician could not explain what ailed me, and only urged me to keep a calm mind and rest well.

Calm mind — easily said, yet how could one will oneself calm? The war at the front, the relief of refugees, the upheaval in the palace — which of these could I stop thinking about?

These past few days, my aunt’s condition had also been worsening.

She had truly burned through all the oil in her lamp. After years of confinement to a sickbed, her mind had grown dim and clouded, her limbs rigid, and she had even lost her sight — she was no different from a living corpse. From first exhausting every means to seek cures for her, to gradually despairing, I had by now completely given up.

Watching my aunt in such a state, I had even thought: I would rather that day I had not saved her from the assassin’s blade — that she had been allowed to leave at the height of her noble dignity, still in the fullness of her former grace. Rather than being ground down by the passage of time, ravaged by illness, departing this world in the form of a stooped, decrepit old woman.

And yet, when the imperial physician said aloud that the Grand Empress Dowager’s remaining days were few, I still could not accept it.

One by one, those I loved were leaving. And now, even my aunt was to go.

I pushed myself through each day, doing my utmost to spend time at the Palace of Endless Longevity with my aunt, quietly accompanying her through her final days.

Gazing at her sleeping face, I sighed quietly in sorrow.

My aunt had always loved to be immaculate in her appearance. I could not let her leave with a haggard, sickly countenance.

I had A’Yue bring a jade comb and rouge. I helped my aunt sit up, and with my own hands combed and arranged her hair into a bun.

“Princess Consort, His Majesty has arrived,” A’Yue said quietly.

I started, and the jade comb slipped from my fingers.

Zidan had come to visit my aunt… Since his return to the palace, I had been carefully avoiding him, unwilling to see him.

“His Majesty is already at the palace gate,” A’Yue said, with a note of anxiety.

There was no time to think. I rose hastily and stepped behind the folding screen. “If His Majesty asks, say only that I came to pay my respects to the Grand Empress Dowager and have already departed.”

Standing behind the red sandalwood screen, I peered through the carved openings and could faintly make out the pale-blue-robed figure stepping through the entrance.

For a moment I held my breath, biting my lip and suppressing the sting behind my eyes.

A’Yue led the serving maids in kneeling before him. Zidan seemed not to notice, and walked straight to my aunt’s bedside, where he stood silently for a long while.

“Who was arranging the Grand Empress Dowager’s hair?” he asked suddenly.

“In reply to Your Majesty, it was this servant,” A’Yue answered.

After a brief silence, Zidan spoke again. His voice was faintly low and heavy. “You — you are a maidservant of Prince Yuzhang’s residence?”

“Yes, this servant attends the Princess Consort. Just now the Princess Consort instructed this servant to remain behind and tend to the Grand Empress Dowager’s hair.”

Zidan said no more. After a long, drawn-out silence, I heard him say in a desolate, hollow voice, “Everyone — withdraw.”

“This servant takes her leave.” A’Yue hesitated for just a moment, then had no choice but to comply.

The sound of skirts rustling — the serving maids on all sides seemed to have withdrawn outside the hall. Not a single sound remained.

The hall returned to a stillness like dead water. Only the faint fragrance of medicine and orchid incense drifted quietly through the air.

Silence — long, sustained silence — until I had the mistaken sense he had perhaps already left. I moved closer to the carved openings in the screen, just about to peer out and see what was happening on the other side, when I suddenly heard a sound barely audible — a choked, stifled sob.

Zidan had fallen forward over my aunt’s bedside, his face buried deep in the bed curtains, his shoulders faintly trembling.

“Honored Mother — why, why did it come to this?”

He was like a helpless child, clinging desperately to my sleeping aunt as she slept on — as though clinging to the strongest arms he could remember from memory, begging to be lifted from the mire. Yet those arms had long since withered and lost all their strength.

That slight figure was half-hidden within the bed curtains. And then his murmured voice drifted out: “Honored Mother — in the old days you always wanted Royal Elder Brother to ascend the throne. Tell me — what is so good about this throne? This throne killed Father, killed Royal Elder Brother, killed Second Elder Brother, and killed Royal Sister-in-Law… Even you have come to this state. Why — why does she still want this throne so desperately?”

I bit my lip fiercely, forcing myself not to make a sound.

“I dreamed of her again — her body covered in blood, standing in the great hall and weeping. But when she turned — blood drenched the ground, her head was severed from her body…” Zidan’s voice floated hollow and distant through the cold, empty bedchamber. “She deceived me. A’Yao deceived me too. Who else is there left to trust? I don’t understand — people I once loved with everything — in the end, why does it all turn to hatred?”

That word “hatred,” heard by my ears, sent a ringing that drowned out every other sound.

Before me, the carved patterns on the folding screen blurred and spun, too indistinct to make out.

Pain — only pain — a blunt ache rising from somewhere deep within, like an icy hand slowly tearing, peeling away the most fragile place buried in my heart, one strip at a time. Beyond pain, I could feel nothing else — not even sorrow or joy.

My fingers twisted into the silk tassels on my skirt. Then came a soft chime — the tassel snapped, and its bright pearls scattered across the floor.

“Who is there!” Zidan started.

He shoved the folding screen aside. Light flooded in before me, and revealed his face — white as ash.

My back pressed against the wall. There was nowhere further to retreat.

He stared at me, then suddenly gave a short, hollow laugh. “Why hide behind there? If there is something you want to know, why not simply ask me directly?”

I had not done it deliberately — yet he took it as intentional. As with the eyes and ears that lurked everywhere in the palace, he saw me as one who concealed herself in the shadows, spying on his every word and action.

In his eyes, I had come to this — so unworthy.

I closed my eyes and let his gaze fall on me, cold as frost and sharp as blades. I no longer wished to speak. It was all futile now.

A chill touched my cheek — he raised his hand to my face, his fingers ice-cold, without a trace of warmth. “Still so proud?”

His other hand pressed flat against my chest. “What has your heart become?”

My entire body trembled, my hands and feet were numb with cold. “Release me.”

His dark eyes were a fathomless pool of shadow, carrying a coldness that made my heart quail.

Before I could struggle, his lips pressed down hard upon mine, trembling as they forced their way past, so cold, so soft — merging quietly with the taste of the very first kiss remembered deep within… The Palace of Swirling Light, spring willow, warm breeze brushing across my face.

Once there was a gentle young man who first kissed my lips — warm and soft, a feeling that lingers forever in the depths of memory.

Ten years later, the same person, the same kiss — yet this was so cold, so broken.

Tears slid down, tracing the contours of my face, slipping into the corner of my lips. He, too, tasted my tears. Abruptly he went rigid and ceased.

I no longer had the strength to hold up my body, which felt as though it were on the verge of collapse. From my heart to every limb and bone, an irrepressible anguish spread, cold sweat soaking through me. I tried to speak but could not make a sound.

He seemed to notice something was wrong and reached out to steady me. “You — what is the matter…”

I clenched my teeth, pushed away his hand, steadied myself against the folding screen, and gave a desolate smile. “As you said — my hands are steeped in blood, and I have brought harm to countless people. Hate me if you will. Let love and hate cancel each other out. From this day forward, you and I are strangers.”

Having said this, I turned away, not daring to look at his face again, and walked step by step toward the outside of the hall.

I do not know how A’Yue supported me back into the imperial carriage. Along the way, I gradually came to my senses, and the pain that had been dimly muffled grew ever clearer and sharper.

The carriage slowed. We were already near the Prince’s residence. I forced myself to sit up and straighten my skirts.

Then, all at once, a warmth beneath me — a rush of heat — and a violent anguish surged up behind it. On the skirt of pale lotus-colored silk, there bloomed a stark, vivid crimson.

The carriage stopped. I lifted the curtain and, with all the composure I could muster, spoke in as steady a voice as I could manage, “A’Yue — send for the imperial physician.”

The imperial physician arrived at the residence immediately. Medicinal broth, acupuncture needles — everything was brought to bear. They were busy until deep into the night.

I could not tell if it was exhaustion or pain — it was as if all sensation had gone utterly numb. Yet my mind was completely, piercingly clear.

Lady Xu had been at my side the whole time, ceaselessly wiping away the cold sweat from my face with a silk handkerchief. Even so, cold sweat continued to soak through my entire body.

The imperial physician withdrew in a flurry of anxious bowing. The elderly midwives who had been on call in the palace were already waiting outside.

It seemed that my poor, not-yet-full-term baby was ready to come into the world early.

The night lay still and heavy. All I was aware of was the steady marking of the water-clock.

I drifted in and out of consciousness, sometimes waking, sometimes sinking back. In the haze, I kept seeing beacon fires and battle flames — far away, on a horse black as lacquer and as violent, Xiao Qi in his battle robes drenched in blood, his long sword cleaving the air, spraying blood that spread across the sky…

A coolness touched my brow — some gentle hand, wiping away the cold sweat.

I opened my eyes and saw a pair of tear-bright eyes filled with tender love. In the blur, it seemed like my mother. Then like my aunt.

It must be Lady Xu. I wanted to call out to her, wanted to smile at her, but heard my own voice coming out broken and thin as a thread.

“I am here.” Lady Xu quickly gripped my hand tight. “Don’t be afraid. A’Wu must not be afraid! The baby will surely be safe!”

I closed my eyes, drawing a slow, deep breath. After regaining a little strength, I gazed blankly out past the curtain. Was it already dark?

I could not see through the layers of deep bed hangings, and did not know whether, far to the north, the sun had yet set on the horizon.

Could not see through these ten thousand rivers and mountains between us — yet faintly I could make out his shadow, as if he were right before my eyes.