She stood tall and imposing, beautiful yet stern: “How dare you brazenly speak to me of the world’s suffering masses? When dynasties change, who suffers? If you truly cared, you should offer good counsel and support the realm. But what have you done? Taking advantage of Nuer’gan’s chaos and the court’s troop deployment to suppress rebellion, you plot to usurp the throne—how does this differ from kicking someone when they’re down? You’ve betrayed my trust and dishonored the generations of virtue your Nanyuan Prince mansion has maintained.” She laughed contemptuously: “Or perhaps the achievements of past Nanyuan princes were merely performances for the world—you’ve bided your time for this very day? Truly calculating! However eloquent those censoring officials, how can they match your military might? Do you plan to crush the Murong clan during internal strife and carve up the realm with those northern barbarians?”

He knew no explanation would help now. He had long anticipated this day—how could she be a weak woman willing to cower under a man’s protection! She had her principles and convictions. Whatever the outcome, he thought there would be room for maneuvering. Since she was currently angry, he’d let her vent—even if she struck him, he’d accept it.

She stepped back; he stepped forward: “Dynastic change is inevitable. Daye has lasted two hundred sixty years—its time has come. Even without me, various lords would rise in rebellion—this is unavoidable. You grew up in the Forbidden City wearing silk and eating delicacies—you don’t know worldly suffering. Without going far, remember when you accompanied me to Huaining—did you see those children’s terror? See elderly people curled roadside with empty bellies? His Majesty sits on his meditation cushion turning a blind eye. I thought you had more blood and flesh than him, more empathy for people’s suffering—who knew I was wrong. Should such a devastated country continue, forcing more people into dire straits? You hate my rebellion, but have you considered—once this realm falls to others, how will we survive? Rather than be slaughtered, better to strike first. I promised to ensure your lifelong peace. Without commanding the realm, I fear I’ll be powerless, watching helplessly as you’re bullied.”

After this lengthy speech, ultimately he was only proving his rebellion was to protect her. Must loving her require destroying Daye’s state foundation? How difficult for him, devising such laughable excuses.

She gazed at him miserably: “I’d rather die standing than kneel accepting your favor. What you’re doing isn’t love—it’s cutting my heart and liver. You make me unable to hold my head up forever—how did I marry such a traitorous minister!”

By the end, she was utterly heartbroken. He’d never seen her like this—like a candle in wind, about to extinguish. He recalled when she debated scholars in Chengguang Hall, she probably looked similar. A delicate princess enduring so much also pained his heart. But today’s fierce strike ensured she’d never again suffer the same pain. Better brief pain in prime years than spending old age in constant fear.

He couldn’t find more excuses for himself. Wrong—rebellion was rebellion. Having taken this step, there was no turning back. He could only persuade her to abandon her obsession.

“Think of our child, Wanwan. He was already five months along—if His Majesty hadn’t forcibly detained you in the capital, he wouldn’t have died. Don’t you want revenge for our child?”

She slowly nodded: “You’re absolutely right—with our child gone, I should find someone to hate. I indeed detest His Majesty. Without him, I wouldn’t have needed to argue with the cabinet or suffer miscarriage from grief. But now I realize I hated the wrong person. If you hadn’t harbored ill intentions, how would our baby have died? Your current rebellion isn’t revenge for our child—it’s satisfying personal desires. Since so, why not admit it frankly instead of adorning yourself so magnificently?”

She had become impervious to reason—whatever he said was futile. He was prepared to endure however she blamed him. How could he argue with her now? He could only bow and sigh: “So in your view, as long as Daye’s realm remains, regardless how the court oppresses Nanyuan, I shouldn’t resist.”

Her gaze was cold as she said sternly: “Ruler is ruler, minister is minister. If you can’t be loyal to your sovereign, you’re a traitorous minister. Don’t speak of court oppression—looking across the realm, Nanyuan remains Daye’s most prosperous domain. Jinling, the imperial prefecture—when the founding emperor granted this to you Qi people, he treated you well. Later monarchs considered territorial reduction countless times yet never touched your Yuwen family. Had they been more decisive, Nanyuan Prince mansion would’ve ceased existing long ago—would it be your turn to march north?”

He looked at her wordlessly. Her stance of irreconcilable enmity only made him feel melancholy. Honestly, women were always weakest in war. If he were more ruthless, why care about her thoughts? But he couldn’t—this was his principal wife, his most beloved woman. Though she seemed insignificant before dynastic change, in his heart she was the most crucial person. Father had once judged him: sufficiently clever but insufficiently ruthless. Those without emotion or love could kill in all directions, but once moved by feeling, they often destroyed a thousand enemies while losing eight hundred—he wasn’t a good general.

But truly achieving emotionlessness—how would that differ from beasts? People always have vulnerabilities; his was her. To put it differently, his ambition was large enough—he wanted all the world’s best things: the realm and her. Having brought them to his side, he could never let go.

His face showed guilt: “I’m worthy of anyone except you. Now the situation is beyond control—please be more open-minded and don’t harm your health over this.”

Wanwan naturally hoped for room to maneuver. She softened her tone, pleading: “Battle hasn’t begun—command Lan Zhou to stop immediately. I’ll explain to His Majesty, saying I was mistaken and everything was a misunderstanding.”

He laughed at her naivety: “Too late. Garrison troops for suppressing rebellion have headed directly to Nuer’gan, followed by three hundred thousand soldiers. How can we make the court believe this is a misunderstanding? Once war begins, it can’t stop. I can’t let Qi people suffer genocide for one person’s preferences. Wanwan, Han and Xianbei people are your subjects—aren’t Qi people also? Giving up now means the court will only massacre Nanyuan.” He turned to look outside at the sunlight, murmuring: “The first siege at noon has already begun…”

Wanwan felt electrified—it had begun, the die was cast… She swayed backward: “Three hundred thousand troops… Daye has two million elite soldiers—don’t you know?”

But usable forces were under one million, and with the tiger tally in hand, probably three hundred thousand more must be subtracted from that million. This made forces evenly matched, and those far away couldn’t provide timely support. In military campaigns throughout history, only core heartlands saw intense fighting—deploying border garrison troops from beyond Yumen Pass was impossible.

Having spoken everything, the great weight lifted from his heart, though she remained troublesome. He said mournfully: “Wanwan, do you believe my feelings for you? If victorious, the realm remains yours. If defeated, I alone will die while you can return to court allegiance—either way, you suffer no harm.”

She trembled with rage—what nonsense! She realized she could no longer communicate with him. Their positions were diametrically opposed, only growing further apart.

Outside the window, spring blazed brilliantly. Peach blossoms bloomed, branches reaching over in extremely beautiful poses, yet she couldn’t appreciate the scenery. One hand pressed the table edge, barely supporting herself from falling. After steadying her breath twice: “I can’t distinguish which of your words are true, which false. Actually you needn’t have insisted on marrying a princess, dragging me in—it truly harmed me without benefiting yourself.”

He admitted indeed implicating her, causing heart-piercing pain, but didn’t regret it: “I feared being unable to protect you when the city fell. If I gained the realm but you were already another’s wife, what use would that realm be? Who would share it with me?”

She suddenly hated him with gritted teeth—how shameless, truly taking advantage of her! Never in her life had she suffered such mockery. Even arguing with the cabinet initially brought only fury. Now she felt both shame and hatred—actually falling so badly, prostrate before her own husband, never to rise again.

She laughed terrifyingly: “Perhaps you still want to name me empress after seizing the realm? An empress like a homeless dog—you think you can single-handedly ensure my lifelong peace?” She shook her head mockingly: “You overestimate yourself. Today you have compelling reasons; tomorrow you’ll have thousands more compelling reasons. Then old ministers will remember me as the eternal sinner who aided her husband’s usurpation, while your Qi servants remember me as the helpless former dynasty princess. When the nest overturns, no eggs remain whole—probably without your orders, they’d strangle me with hemp rope long ago. Between us, one side must compromise—you’re absolutely impossible, as am I. Since we can’t be husband and wife, we can only be enemies. From today, please don’t set foot in my Grand Princess mansion again—otherwise everyone in my mansion will fight you to the end despite our limited strength.”

He stood stunned—was she severing ties with him? His mind went numb, his tongue root bitter. He tried approaching her: “Wanwan, we loved each other so much…”

These words nauseated her: “While saying you love me, your heart calculated the Murong realm. What right do you have to speak of love?” Seeing she couldn’t drive him away, she turned to take down the jade-fitted sword from the wall. The long blade left its sheath—beneath flying wide sleeves, cold light blazed brilliantly: “Leave now, or don’t blame my discourtesy.”

The jade-fitted sword was most distinguished among all ceremonial swords, once essential for crown princes and emperors attending court. When she originally married out, the emperor personally escorted her fifty li, removing his own sword at the dock to give her—showing that though Gaogong lived dissolutely, his heart toward his sister was sincere. Wanwan could have used it to strike down a traitor but ultimately couldn’t bring herself to act, finally reduced to a threatening tool. He didn’t fear its sharpness but more worried she might suffer excessive emotional strain, so temporarily retreated.

He said fine: “I’ll go—put down the sword, don’t hurt yourself. Wanwan, having experienced so many trials together, are you willing to separate thus?”

The three-foot blade advanced another half step, blocking his words. That imposing aura of natural authority on her face reminded him of her premarital appearance—forever an unattainable lotus on snowy peaks. Even yielding to him, she wouldn’t lose her backbone and pride.

He left, and only then did she collapse into a chair. Just now the room was tense with drawn weapons while Tonghuan and others waited outside. Once Prince Nanyuan departed, they immediately entered. Saying nothing, they simply stood silently beside her.

She lowered her hand, the sword point resting on lotus-patterned floor tiles, talking to herself: “Too late…”

Xiao You tearfully stroked her arm: “Your Highness, you must persevere.”

She handed the sword to Tonghuan, saying desolately: “There are many good people in this world, but those who constantly make you compromise definitely aren’t good people.”

Yes, she was always compromising—from marriage until now. She understood the principle of gains and losses. Since noble birth brought her supreme glory, the responsibilities she bore must exceed others’. She never complained, only endured, but enduring until now became increasingly unbearable. Others rebelling was still acceptable—why must it be him? He was the prince consort, her husband!

She had misjudged him, thinking him cultured and refined, at least still mindful of old affection. Unexpectedly his methods were ruthless and decisive. Only afterward did Yu Qixia tell her that after those three hundred Chang Wei left the mansion, Jin Shi had secretly investigated—who knew all traces vanished, probably meeting terrible fates.

She broke into cold sweat, thinking of the remaining Imperial Guards, nearly failing to protect even them.

She blamed herself, standing before Yin’an Hall in tears: “This is my fault—if I hadn’t agreed to him, this wouldn’t have happened.”

But what use was regret? Would he have spared so many retainers from action? Just a matter of sooner or later. Now the entire mansion was surrounded by his imperial guards—not even a fly could escape. The tiger tally was hard to find, movements restricted. Current circumstances were worse than her situation in the capital.

“I’m always controlled by others—formerly my brother, now my husband.” She sat under the eaves, staring vacantly at drifting clouds: “I’ve become a caged bird. That day I should have listened to Jin Shi and returned to the capital.”

Tonghuan disagreed: “If you returned to the capital, it would only accelerate Nanyuan’s army’s killing pace. Staying here makes him cautious—perhaps we can delay things.”

Yu Qixia entered from the second gate, approaching with a troubled glance at her.

“What?” She straightened, asking: “Any news from outside?”

Yu Qixia hesitated before saying: “Wu Qu, previously sent out, returned to report but was no match for the prince mansion’s guards—killed in the alley.”

Wanwan stared blankly, her face deathly pale: “Why did he return? He shouldn’t have come back…”

Outside was already so bloody—a great edifice toppling, a dynasty being replaced, destroying not just surname rulers but millions of lives. Just her Grand Princess mansion had lost so many—what about the Forbidden City? Beijing? She dared not think. Her heart suddenly raced, and she fell backward unconscious.

When she awoke, night had fallen. Evening brought miserable wind and bitter rain splashing against latticed windows while candlelight on the desk flickered dimly. She sat up looking around—this bedchamber seemed unfamiliar now, only herself alone. Frightened, she loudly called for Tonghuan and Xiao You, but he appeared instead.

He wore bamboo-green meditation robes, hair loosely gathered, carrying a glazed lamp. Lamplight illuminated his gently flowing hem and his Buddha-like gentle eyes.

“Awake?” He placed the lamp on the bed table, coming to check on her: “I heard you fainted and returned to care for you. The physician said it’s physical weakness requiring good care. You’ve endured too much lately—all my fault. However you resent me, whatever punishment is acceptable, just don’t harm yourself.” Speaking while observing her expression, he tremblingly moved closer: “Wanwan, don’t ignore me—this hurts more than death by a thousand cuts. Things have reached this point—life must continue. Do you plan to hate me forever?”

She looked at him indifferently, her heart dead as ashes. His actions truly felt foreign to her. Were human lives grass to him? Facing her, he appeared benevolent; turning away, he became a death-dealing demon. What had those Chang Wei done wrong that he killed them all? Now it was those outside the second gate—gradually it would develop to those inside: Tonghuan, Xiao You, Nanny Zhang, Nanny Li… finally her turn. When lips die, teeth grow cold. With Daye still existing, things were already thus—once he breached the nine gates, where in the world would the Murong clan and their subjects have standing room!