The Emperor’s temperament was naturally unrestrained, so his letter also mixed classical Chinese with plain speech, appearing quite incongruous.
He said: “Wanwan, my sister, seeing this letter is like seeing you in person. We haven’t met for a long time. Just when the two armies are at war, I don’t know if this letter can reach your hands. I’ll try anyway to ease my longing. Since our parting at West Lake three years ago, though we siblings have exchanged letters, our hearts have grown distant. Now we’ve reached a situation of fire and water—this was beyond my expectations. I know you resent me. The cause planted in those years has borne fruit today. It was my miscalculation, and I regret it too late—but let’s not speak of that. Yesterday I went to your chambers. Your palace quarters have always been kept empty for you. You said they should be given to the concubines to live in, but I couldn’t bear to do so. In this world, you are my only close blood relative. With you gone a thousand li away, I must keep some remembrance. The crabapples in your courtyard have bloomed. On the first cluster of flowers, I tied red silk for you, celebrating your finding a suitable husband. In the future, when you and your husband are harmoniously in love, I can rest assured even under the nine springs. The realm is shattered—the sin lies with me. That I should die to apologize to the world is my duty. You needn’t grieve. When the city falls, the affection between me and my imperial sister is like the great river’s flowing waters—endless forever. In the future when my sister sits among the azure clouds with the realm in hand, balancing the world, both worthy scholars and common soldiers will want to attach themselves to you, and your brother will also rejoice for you. Realms are like human lifespans—they have beginnings and ends. What I regret is that it was destroyed in my hands. As a king who lost his country, I have no face to meet our ancestors. But there is still some comfort—though the state falls to others, it doesn’t fall far. When you ascend to the Empress position, please patrol the realm for your brother, bringing blessings to the people. Though your brother dies, tears will still wet my garments.”
Wanwan closed the letter. Outside, the spring wind was strong, blowing through treetops and eave corners. The whistling was accompanied by the clinking of metal ornaments, like a desolate and sorrowful funeral song.
The letter contained no denunciation, not even a harsh word, but she knew how desperate he was. He still misunderstood her. That map had harmed him greatly—because he trusted her, it led to defeats at the front. Being attacked by Nanyuan until completely routed, he must hate her deeply in his heart. She wanted to explain, picked up her brush, thought briefly, then put it down again. At this point, words were most powerless. No matter how much she said, it would be in vain—no one would believe her.
She stood up, smoothed her skirt and went outside, standing under the eaves to instruct: “Have Pingchuan wait. I have a letter for him to present to His Majesty in person.”
Tonghuan agreed, carefully observing her expression. “What did His Majesty say in the letter? Did he scold Your Highness?”
She shook her head. “He said realms also have their natural end, telling me not to be sad…”
Tonghuan was somewhat puzzled. Could it be that bearing the burden too long had made even the Emperor weary? Perhaps seeing everything clearly would slowly reduce the pain, making it less difficult to accept.
She temporarily relaxed. “What did Your Highness come out for? It’s almost noon—the sun is strong. Please go inside. This servant will have Xiao You prepare pea cakes—you used to love eating these most.”
Her face showed a slight smile. “I was just thinking of them.” She looked outside again. “I haven’t seen Dong Li for a long time. Bring him so I can see him.”
Tonghuan took the order and left. Soon the wet nurse brought the child over. Dong Li was already over a year old and beginning to babble. His height too inherited the Qi people’s typical build—long limbs, much taller than children his age.
He could walk now, just not well, still needing an adult’s hand. Wanwan saw from afar a small figure entering through the hanging flower gate, wearing a jacket and long robe, dressed quite properly. Having hurried two steps and feeling very accomplished, he smiled extremely happily.
Wanwan walked down to the steps, crouching to welcome him. He walked over step by step, but when nearly approaching, he suddenly stopped, his eyes somewhat strange and fearful as he examined her repeatedly.
Wanwan smiled: “Young master, don’t you recognize your lady?”
She was about to step forward to receive him, but he burst into miserable crying, frightfully hugging the wet nurse’s legs.
The young master’s crying left his lady unable to save face. No amount of coaxing could calm him. The wet nurse held him, rocking back and forth. “Don’t you always call for your lady? Why are you acting like such a coward when you see her?”
Wanwan’s smile became awkward. Children really were spiritual—he probably smelled the scent of death and no longer wanted to come near her.
She stood up, sighing deeply. “It’s your lady’s fault for neglecting you lately.” She turned to frown at Tonghuan. “Since it’s like this, send him back to the prince’s mansion. Children should still be raised by their birth mothers. Keeping him here when I can’t attend to him properly—with no one to love and care for the child, how pitiful.”
Tonghuan advised her not to rush to send him away, but she still shook her head. “You personally take him and put him in the young mistress’s hands—only then will I be at ease. On your way back, stop by Green Willow Residence and bring me two mixed vegetable buns.”
Tonghuan had no choice but to agree. “I’ll call Xiao You to come serve you.”
She said it wasn’t necessary. “Let her stay busy. I’ll sleep for a while first and eat when I wake up. You go first—if it’s late, the young mistress will be sleeping and we’ll disturb her.”
Dong Li was still crying. She tucked her hands away and looked at him deeply twice, then lifted her skirt up the steps without looking back again.
The crying gradually faded. She exhaled deeply. Children really were strange creatures—so lovable when not crying, but when crying they could drive you to death. Now that the person was sent away, her greatest concern was laid to rest. As for these people serving around her, she had written instructions—when Liang Shi saw them, he should allow them to live.
She entered the inner room, dismissed the attending maids, and instructed that no one be allowed to disturb her. She lit a candle and burned the Emperor’s letter to prevent anyone from using it to make trouble. With everything that needed preparing ready, she walked around the room twice, making final farewells to this place where she had lived so long.
She had done her best—there was no need to persist any longer. Second Brother said he would die to atone for his sins, but she was the one who should die most. Looking back at the past now, she seemed able to stand outside it all. She saw herself in Yude Palace painting her eyebrows and applying makeup, fluttering her water sleeves; saw herself lowering her eyes submissively, speaking carefully before the Empress Dowager; saw herself in phoenix crown and bridal robes, marrying as someone’s wife; saw herself in Chengguang Hall with towering rage, arguing based on principle… Every frame was sinful, all wrong. How good it would have been if Mother had taken her along when she died—leaping outside the three realms, without joy or sorrow, she wouldn’t have had to experience so much suffering.
Her life couldn’t be called either success or failure. Fine clothes and food never ceased, and she’d had brief happiness too. She still remembered fishing for crabs by Yanwan Lake, and remembered floating on the lake with Liang Shi under melting moonlight—how beautiful those times were. She never imagined she would fall to such a state. As a person, she could abandon everything except dignity—this was her last bit of pride as a human being. There were many choices in life. Some people could bow for five pecks of rice; others would rather starve than bend their backs. People were always different, choices always different, each with their own reasoning. It was just that she had enjoyed all worldly wealth and glory, wearing the brilliant birth status her maternal family gave her. With her maternal family fallen, to turn and embrace the usurping husband’s arms to continue her ease would make her unworthy of being human.
Being fooled, being trampled—even gate-keeping slaves could open her letters. If she lived on, one could foresee such situations continuing. Why should she endure it? Originally she wanted to wait for the final battle results, but now it seemed unnecessary. After reaching the end of her rope, this was all there was.
She slowly walked over and sat before the bronze mirror. The mirror reflected a thin face, pale and bloodless, as if even beauty was gone. She opened her makeup box to arrange her hair, painted her eyebrows, and dotted her lips—finally recovering some color.
Rising to open the trunk, in a box in the corner lay the imperial edict of her enfeoffment and the tablet held when meeting the Emperor as a princess consort. She had several gold seals—besides two personal seals, the rest were various turtle-button official seals. Originally there weren’t so many styles of court-issued official seals, but because her father and brothers loved her, they made their own imperial seals and never forgot to include her. Having experienced three dynasties of Daye emperors, she had six red gold turtle-button seals.
She selected two, cut off the leather cords, and weighed them—enough. She had to take her things with her. The other four would accompany her burial, placed in the coffin so she wouldn’t forget her identity in the future.
The seals had sharp edges. Though small and delicate, swallowing them wasn’t easy. But with a heart set on death, she didn’t care about this bodily harm at all. She felt her throat would be cut, the heavy weight sinking down, but her heart was calm—finally she could console her ancestors. Second Brother hated her so much—her explanations were useless. Only this was the best explanation. When Pingchuan returned to the capital and brought news of her death, he should finally understand her heart.
As for Liang Shi, she knew that alive, she couldn’t escape his entanglement. But she was weary and couldn’t face it—this was the most decisive solution. From now on, through endless lifetimes, they would never meet again. She never wanted to be involved with him anymore.
She sat on the southern kang, leaning crookedly against the hidden pillow, turning to look at the spring scenery outside. Two orioles flew over—they must be husband and wife, tender and affectionate even in the air. She tilted up a slight smile, hearing the sound of her heart breaking, yet she could endure that pain.
So tired… The pain left her exhausted, unable to support her eyelids, slowly closing them. In the darkness came melodious Jiangnan folk songs: “Hometown, ten thousand li away, long dreams of the soul…”
Dong Li’s crying finally stopped, but after entering the prince’s mansion he wanted no one, clinging to Tonghuan’s neck and calling for his lady. This little person always touched the softest part of one’s heart. Having been raised in the Grand Princess Residence for so long, he was extremely familiar with her, while the people in the prince’s mansion were strangers, so he held onto her and wouldn’t let go.
Tonghuan laughed helplessly. “Earlier when your lady wanted to hold you, why did you hide?” As she spoke, she handed him to the young mistress. “Our Highness has been lacking energy lately and feared wronging young master. I thought you must miss the child, and with the situation outside so chaotic, better to let young master stay by your side for a couple days. When Her Highness’s health improves somewhat, we’ll take young master back.”
The young mistress still expressed gratitude. “Please ask how额涅 is doing for me. Just the other day I was saying to my lady that I wanted to visit her, but feared she wouldn’t feel comfortable. Several times the carriage was prepared, but at departure I hesitated again, afraid that seeing people from the Yuwen family would stir up her sad memories.”
Tonghuan smiled mildly, understanding in her heart—when walls fall, everyone pushes. That’s exactly how it was. They couldn’t gauge how deep the relationship between Prince Nanyuan and the Grand Princess was. When the realm changed hands, if the Grand Princess’s position remained unshaken, respect would be appropriate. But if there were changes, or if due to position switches she went from honored to humble, then whether they still needed to curry her favor was another matter.
She gave perfunctory responses and curtsied to take leave. Seeing the situation, Dong Li began fussing again. The young mistress didn’t even respond to her once, using the child’s crying as an excuse to turn and go inside.
She sighed and left the prince’s mansion. Guards waited outside. Taking the carriage directly to Green Willow Residence, she bought the buns the Grand Princess liked and returned to the residence in the afternoon.
Entering the courtyard, she saw Xiao You crouching by the railing watering flowers. She asked: “Has Her Highness eaten?”
Xiao You turned and pursed her lips. “The pea cakes are ready, placed on the desk. She said to nap first and not to disturb her. Are you eating? There’s more in the cabinet—should I get some for you?”
Tonghuan shook her head, gazing toward the side hall through the glass windows. Gauze curtains hung over the flower windows—very clear looking out from inside, but shadowy and unclear looking in from outside.
Somehow, her heart felt unsettled all day. She put down the buns and went to the well platform to wash her hands, walking back while saying: “I’ll go check—afraid she’s not covering herself and will catch cold again.”
This Princess Residence was originally a temporary palace, so its specifications were very high. Usually the main hall was used for receiving guests while the side halls were for daily life. Since the west side hall was designated as a study, Her Highness lived in the east side hall—the front hall for afternoon naps, the back hall as a bedroom.
She moved lightly, pushing open the latticed door to enter. The room was quiet except for the ticking of the Western clock. The Hetian carpet on the floor was very thick—stepping on it was also soundless. She circled around the folding screen inward and immediately saw her leaning against the cushion, already asleep.
Indeed not covered—she had guessed right. She opened the kang cabinet and took out a thin blanket to cover her, but looking closely, her complexion seemed somewhat unusual—more radiant than usual.
Clearly lively and beautiful, yet it made her heart leap suddenly. She called tentatively: “Your Highness, go lie on the bed properly.”
She showed no movement, not even a twitch of her eyebrows.
A huge terror gripped her throat. As if possessed, she reached to check her breathing—nothing, absolutely nothing.
“Ah, Your Highness!” Tonghuan was struck as by lightning, screaming in despair: “Your Highness, what’s wrong! Someone… quickly come!”
Her cry was shrill, breaking the afternoon tranquility. Outside came the clang of a copper basin hitting the ground, chaotic footsteps, and panicked shouting converging from all directions. When everyone rushed into the hall, they saw Tonghuan already holding the person, crying inconsolably.
She hugged her tightly, rocking back and forth with tears streaming down. The Grand Princess’s expression was peaceful—even with such shaking she remained silent and motionless, beautiful but without any life force. A kind of irreversible sorrow like a strainer pressed down on everyone’s hearts. Jin Shi called to Tonghuan with a trembling voice: “What happened to Her Highness?”
Xiao You trembled forward, kneeling on the footstool to caress her hands. Those fingers were still soft, just slightly cool. She pressed her hands to her own face. “Your Highness, this servant will warm them for you… once warmed they’ll be fine. Please wake up—the pea cakes are ready, your favorite… Your Highness, how could you do this? What are we servants to do!”
The world collapsed. Inside and outside the doors, a great crowd knelt down. Earth-shaking wails rang through the clouds, startling even the guards outside the walls.
The guards looked at each other. “What happened?”
The commander had an ominous feeling and hurried through the gate to look. Not a single guard was posted—he entered the second gate without hindrance.
The scene inside was terrifying. Hurrying up to the veranda to investigate, he saw a stretcher set up in the main hall. The inner eunuch carried out the Grand Princess—the formerly supremely noble Highness was now like a doll. When placed on the stretcher, one hand hung down limply, no longer resembling a living thing.
The commander stepped back two large steps, stumbling as he rushed out the gate, shouting to those waiting for news by the stone lions: “Quick! Eight-hundred-li emergency report to the prince… Grand Princess Highness has… passed away!”