Fengyang.

Servant women clad in stone-blue jackets entered the hall in single file from outside, hands holding lacquer trays. The lacquer trays either held magnificent skirts and garments or displayed pearl hairpins and hair ornaments—a dazzling array. The servant women entered the hall and stood on both sides, leaving a passageway wide enough for two people to walk side by side.

A steward-like woman kept her hands tucked in her sleeves, her face expressionless as she addressed the beautiful woman inside the hall: “Beauty Jiang, hurry and bathe and change your clothes. Do not keep the lord waiting long.”

Jiang Yichu protectively held her young daughter in her arms, her almond eyes swollen red from crying as she glared hatefully: “Get out! I am the wife of the Prince of Changlin’s heir! Not some Beauty Jiang you speak of!”

The steward woman lifted her eyelids, looking at her coldly: “I advise Beauty Jiang to be more sensible. The Prince of Changlin and his son are already dead. Since you’ve entered this Lanxing Terrace, you are a beauty awaiting the lord’s summons to serve him.”

Her gaze fell upon the delicate baby girl in Jiang Yichu’s arms, cold: “Beauty Jiang threatened death to gain the lord’s sympathy, which is why he spared this remnant of the Wen clan. Has Beauty Jiang considered the consequences of angering the lord?”

Jiang Yichu held her daughter even tighter, biting her teeth together. Tears rolled down from the corners of her eyes, and finally she said: “You all leave. I’ll change by myself.”

The steward woman said arrogantly: “Then we shall wait outside the hall for the beauty.”

Having said this, she made a gesture. The women holding the lacquer trays set them down before filing out one after another.

Little A’Yin still didn’t understand much, using her chubby hands to wipe away the tear stains on Jiang Yichu’s face, saying in her childish voice: “Mother, don’t cry. Bad people… gone.”

Jiang Yichu looked at her innocent daughter, thinking of her son who had been thrown to his death, and grief welled up from within. Holding her, she sobbed aloud.

Little A’Yin didn’t know why her mother was crying so hard and, seemingly frightened, also began to cry.

Jiang Yichu, tears streaming, patted her daughter’s back and handed her to the nanny at the side.

The nanny’s eyes were also red: “Young Madam…”

Jiang Yichu said through her tears: “Jun’er is already gone. I cannot let anything happen to A’Yin.”

She covered her face and wept, supporting herself on the screen as she entered the bathing room.

The nanny held little A’Yin and, seeing her rosy cheeks covered with tears, looking so innocent and pitiful, couldn’t help but raise her sleeve to wipe her own tears: “My poor young mistress…”

Jiang Yichu submerged her entire body in the bath. Her wet hair clung to her pale face, and tears still flowed unstoppably from her eyes.

She wasn’t a breathtaking beauty like Wen Yu who could make someone lovesick with just one glance. What she possessed more was the gentle tenderness of Jiangnan’s misty rain—from her appearance to her temperament, she was as clear and beautiful as a landscape ink painting.

From outside, little A’Yin’s intermittent crying could still be heard. She lay at the edge of the bath and also began sobbing heavily, calling out repeatedly: “Heng Lang, Heng Lang…”

Her husband Wen Heng lived up to his name—he was an upright, refined, and modest gentleman.

Even after years of marriage, he would still blush when he saw her.

Whenever he went out, in the letters he sent back, he would always begin with the most tender words: “My wife A’Chu.”

Such a sincere and upright person who devoted himself to supporting the state and benefiting the common people had ended up beheaded with his corpse publicly displayed.

Jiang Yichu cried uncontrollably. Thinking of how her father-in-law and mother-in-law also met brutal ends, how A’Yu who went to the Southern Chen for the marriage alliance’s fate remained unknown, and that only she could protect her young daughter now, she finally forced herself to suppress the overwhelming grief in her heart and stepped out of the bath.

—

The steward woman waiting outside the hall heard the hall door open and turned to look. Seeing Jiang Yichu properly groomed and dressed, with only the faint red from crying remaining at the corners of her eyes—which made her look even more touching with the rouge applied—she said with satisfaction: “Beauty Jiang, follow me.”

After Pei Song captured Fengyang, he occupied the Prince of Changlin’s residence.

Led by that servant woman, Jiang Yichu crossed winding paths and secluded alleys. When she arrived at the courtyard where she had lived with Wen Heng, even with the powder and rouge covering her face, her complexion instantly paled.

She stopped at the courtyard gate, unwilling to go further. The servant woman who led the way looked back at her sideways: “The lord is waiting for Beauty Jiang inside.”

Jiang Yichu’s feet felt as if they were filled with lead—she couldn’t move forward no matter what.

This was the place where her husband had lived. Every brick and stone, every blade of grass and tree here held shadows of their past time together.

She could serve that traitor with her body for the sake of her daughter, but she was unwilling to do so in this place.

Seeing that she still wouldn’t move, the servant woman’s upturned eyes lifted higher as she scolded: “What is Beauty Jiang still hesitating about? The lord’s patience is limited.”

A tear fell from Jiang Yichu’s carefully made-up eyes. She trembled almost imperceptibly as she stepped into the courtyard.

Two maidservants guarded the door of the main room. Seeing her arrive, they opened the door. Jiang Yichu walked stiffly step by step into the room where she had lived since her wedding.

Inside the room, floor heating burned and warm fragrance filled the air.

As if she were a walking corpse, she knelt on the thick carpet printed with large peony flowers and said: “Sinful woman Jiang Shi pays respects to the Grand Tutor.”

Pei Song had once been part of the Ao faction of maternal relatives, repeatedly obstructing the reform and new policies pushed by the Prince of Changlin and his son. Taking advantage of the Ao faction’s release of power, he had climbed step by step to the position of Military Governor of E Province and was additionally enfeoffed as Grand Tutor.

Although Fengyang was now broken, and he had exterminated the Wen imperial clan completely, it wasn’t as if he alone dominated everything now. To the north, there was still the surrendered general Wei Qishan guarding the Sixteen Prefectures of Yan and Yun. To the south, there was the Southern Chen that had taken advantage of court chaos to split off and establish its own dynasty.

If he, a rebel general of Great Liang, were to proclaim himself emperor under the name of unifying north and south, it would be illegitimate and improper no matter what. So those beneath him all addressed him as Grand Tutor.

After Jiang Yichu spoke those words, the person sitting above remained silent for a long time. All she could hear in her ears was the light sound of him toying with some object, the friction and collision. By the time her knees and legs had gone numb from kneeling, she finally heard the other person say carelessly: “Lift your head.”

Jiang Yichu raised her head, but the first thing she noticed wasn’t the appearance of that treacherous villain, but rather the scholar’s jade pot he was toying with in his hands. The pot was made of white jade with a warm luster and delicate carving. A black cord threaded through the pot’s handle held several red agate beads—it was Wen Heng’s favorite plaything during his lifetime.

He always said “a heart of ice in a jade pot”—toward her, toward this nation and its people, it was all the same.

Perhaps her loss of composure fell into the other party’s eyes, as the person sitting above gave an ambiguous light laugh. He leaned forward slightly, his fingertip hooking the thin cord on the pot’s handle, unhurried: “Seeing this jade pot so exquisite, I picked it up to play with it casually. However, it seems I’ve touched Madam’s beloved object?”

The corner of his mouth curved upward slightly. His fingertip tilted, and the thin cord slipped off his finger due to the weight of the jade pot below. He said with a smile: “This Pei shall return it to Madam right now.”

But tears rolled down from Jiang Yichu’s eyes again. Disregarding the numbness in her legs, she lunged forward: “No—”

Yet she ultimately couldn’t catch it. The lustrous and clear white jade pot struck the steps and shattered into pieces.

The only memento Wen Heng had left her was also gone. Jiang Yichu cried until she could barely breathe, reaching out to pick up the jade pot fragments. But a brocade shoe embroidered with complex patterns in gold thread stepped on the fragment of the jade pot she wanted to retrieve.

Jiang Yichu lifted her swollen red eyes and saw Pei Song’s cold and perverse face.

He said slowly: “That worthless waste from the Wen family is already dead. I don’t like my women keeping other men in their hearts. Not even dead ones.”

He leaned down, his rough fingers wiping away the tear stains on Jiang Yichu’s face. For a moment, his eyes seemed to carry a trace of tenderness: “Seeing you cry for him, I want to drag his corpse out and whip it a few more times, Elder Sister.”

All the hair on Jiang Yichu’s body stood on end. Her tear-filled eyes stared at him in terror: “You… who exactly are you?”

A hesitant yet anxious voice came from outside the door reporting: “My lord, urgent report from Youzhou!”

Pei Song withdrew his hand and stood up, looking down at Jiang Yichu from above: “Don’t remember? Elder Sister might as well think about it more carefully.”

Having said this, he donned the cloak hanging to the side and strode out the door, leaving only Jiang Yichu sitting in place, her soul not yet settled, looking at the white jade pot fragments on the ground, tears falling like rain.

—

The chief secretary waiting outside the room saw Pei Song emerge and immediately presented the letter from Youzhou, quickly following him as they walked: “My lord, as soon as news spread that you captured Fengyang and beheaded the Prince of Changlin and his son, Youzhou sent a proclamation declaring they will march south to subjugate you!”

Pei Song only gave a contemptuous laugh: “That old fox Wei Qishan—when I besieged Fengyang he sat steady as a mountain, but once Fengyang fell, he’s brandishing righteous words about punishing me on behalf of the Wen clan? He just wants a share of this pie.”

As the two spoke, they had already entered the great hall.

The chief secretary worried: “Though that may be so, right now Wei Qishan has legitimate justification, which is greatly disadvantageous to you, my lord!”

Inside the great hall stood a long table more than one zhang in length and about half a zhang wide. A strategic sandbox was laid out on the long table.

Pei Song looked down at the troop distributions of various forces on the sandbox, unconcerned: “Does having justification mean certain victory? The Prince of Changlin and his son had even greater reputations among the common people, yet didn’t they still become souls under my blade?”

He grasped the finely inscribed sword at his waist, his gaze fixed on Youzhou where the Wei banner was planted, his eyes revealing arrogance: “Let him come if he dares.”

Yet the chief secretary’s concerns weren’t dispelled by his words: “My lord, you were able to take Luodu in one stroke and then breach Fengyang because the Prince of Changlin and his son hadn’t yet come of age, and Great Liang had already been drained by the Ao faction of maternal relatives. Had the Prince of Changlin ascended to the imperial throne and boldly reformed the old systems, eliminating the deep-rooted diseases of the court, Great Liang—this centipede that dies but never falls—would likely have recovered.”

Hearing this, Pei Song only laughed coldly: “Sir should know that in this world, what is most precious yet most lamentable is timing. Clearly, this timing did not fall to the Wen clan.”

The chief secretary fell silent. Indeed, Pei Song’s rebellion against Liang seized precisely such a moment when fate didn’t protect the Wen clan.

Had he raised his banner of rebellion even one day earlier, the Ao faction would have joined forces with the Prince of Changlin, and the not-yet-thoroughly-dead centipede would have fought back—the battle at Luodu would have had an uncertain outcome.

If he had rebelled one day later, news of the Prince of Changlin’s enthronement would have been proclaimed together with the implementation of new laws. The common people, long suffering under corvée labor and heavy taxes, would have had hope—who would have followed him in rebellion against Liang?

That Pei Song seized this opportunity—perhaps it meant Great Liang was destined to fall.

The chief secretary asked: “Then will you next dispatch troops to Dingzhou to block Wei Qishan’s southward army?”

Pei Song’s gaze swept across the rises and falls of terrain on the sandbox, stopping at Yongzhou. He smiled: “No rush. I heard Huo Kun died?”

The chief secretary: “That Yongzhou Governor Zhou Jing’an is stubborn and inflexible, pedantically loyal. Presumably, Huo Kun’s repeated attempts at persuading surrender made him sense something wrong, so he struck first. With such determination, if he could surrender to you, my lord, he would not be without merit as an ally.”

Pei Song’s fingertips picked up the black banner representing the Pei clan and inserted it into Yongzhou territory, saying: “Then dispatch troops to Yongzhou and send Zhou Jing’an a letter of surrender. If he’s willing to open the city and accept surrender, I’ll let him continue as Yongzhou Governor. If not…”

He laughed lightly: “Then kill the chicken to warn the monkeys for the other prefectures that haven’t yet surrendered to see.”

The chief secretary hesitated: “Yongzhou is not a place where troops are stationed. Between south of the Wei River and north of the Guan River, among the prefectures that haven’t yet submitted, Xiangzhou is the toughest bone to crack. If you wish to establish your authority, my lord, you should choose Xiangzhou.”

Pei Song rotated the iron thumb ring used for drawing bows on his finger, his smile cold: “Just do as I instruct. There’s an old acquaintance in Yongzhou. It’s time to pay a visit.”

—

Yongzhou.

The red sun rose high, and tens of thousands of rays of dawn light dispersed the thin morning mist. Half the Wei River’s waters and half its frost-covered reeds were all dyed with a pale red.

Wen Yu gazed at the surging eastward-flowing water, her long hair flying, her robes making a fluttering sound in the wind. She said calmly to the person beside her: “Take me back.”

Xiao Li led over the horse that had been rooting in the frosty ground at the riverbank searching for tender grass to eat. As he helped Wen Yu mount, she looked at the arm he extended for her to use for support, was silent for a moment, then said: “I will head south today.”

Xiao Li said: “I know.”

Wen Yu braced herself on his hand and flipped onto the horse’s back. Once she was seated, he actually climbed up from the side. His hands circled around her arms, helping her wrap the thick cloak around her body tightly from left and right, then grasped the reins and said: “The morning wind is cold. Hold onto my clothes here. If your hands freeze and can’t hold on, you’ll fall off the horse.”

Having said this, he kicked the horse’s belly and called out: “Giddyup!”

The horse suddenly took off galloping toward the city. Wen Yu squinted in the cold wind, looking at the overlapping mountain ranges in the distance.

Ten thousand acres of dawn light dispersed the gray misty fog of the road they came by. The horse’s hooves trampled the dawn as they returned.

—

When they returned to the Governor’s residence, Zhou Jing’an and his wife had just learned early that morning that Wen Yu had disappeared and were anxiously pacing. Hearing the servants report that Wen Yu had returned, they hurried out to greet her.

Wen Yu walked toward Zhou Jing’an and his wife. She turned back to glance at Xiao Li and said: “Thank you for taking me out of the city.”

Having said this, she turned and ascended the steps.

Xiao Li watched her retreating figure step by step—her long hair like thick satin spread outside her cloak, moving with the wind. He suddenly felt this might be the last time in this life he would see her.

Lady Zhou, upon seeing Wen Yu, was nearly crying with anxiety: “Princess, where did you go? This morning when the maidservant reported you were missing, this lady and my husband… feared you might do something drastic.”

Wen Yu said: “I’ve made Madam and the Governor worry. I went out of the city for a while and forgot to leave word with the maidservants.”

Zhou Jing’an said repeatedly: “It’s good that the Princess has returned. You must not be shortsighted…”

Wen Yu’s eyes no longer held last night’s fragility. It was as if all that pain and desolation had been shed with this morning’s tears by the Wei River and flowed east with the river water. She said calmly: “If Pei Song does not die, Yu dare not take her own life to face her parents in the netherworld.”

Hearing this, Zhou Jing’an finally completely set his mind at ease. His pair of eyes weathered by wind and frost were still red even today as he said: “It’s good that the Princess has this resolve. I just learned this morning that the Marquis of Shuobian, Wei Qishan, has issued a proclamation to subjugate Pei Song!”

He cursed: “He, a mere lapdog of the Ao faction, how dare he commit this act of betraying his lord! Just see who in this world will submit to him! When the Princess goes to Southern Chen to borrow troops and joins forces with the Marquis of Shuobian, the execution of the traitor Pei is just around the corner!”

Hearing that Wei Qishan had dispatched troops, Wen Yu’s eyelashes lifted slightly, then she understood in her heart. Wei Qishan’s troop deployment at this time was merely seeking a better-sounding reason to compete for dominance.

But with the Wei family’s troops holding back Pei Song, his pace of devouring Great Liang’s territory would eventually slow down.

For the sake of her sister-in-law, for the sake of her brother’s only bloodline A’Yin, and for the blood feud of the entire Wen clan, she must set out immediately.

Her path to survival, the blade of vengeance she could grasp—all lay in Southern Chen.

There, her father the Prince had long ago laid down chess pieces to recover Southern Chen.

She bowed with clasped hands toward Zhou Jing’an: “I trouble the Governor to prepare a carriage for Yu and send Yu south!”