Life is like a play—when the music ends, no matter what bewilderment and regret remain, what must disperse will disperse.

The Grand Princess had a dying wish: if someday she was no longer here, she hoped those beneath her could leave safely. Looking back now, she had actually made her decision long ago. When family and country couldn’t both be preserved, she had no choice but martyrdom. Jin Shi had promised her, and even though she was no longer here, he still meticulously carried out her final command.

This Grand Princess’s residence was filled everywhere with traces of her—happy and unhappy memories lingering in their hearts, threatening to crush them completely. Though parting was unbearably reluctant, they had to leave. This was now the Nanyuan people’s world. Who knew if they hesitated now, whether they’d still be able to leave alive in the future.

The carriages were ready, stopped outside the main gate of the Princess’s residence. A group of people stood there dejectedly as morning sunlight fell on their heads. Having lost one person, the team was in complete disarray.

Xiao You wept constantly: “Her Highness hasn’t even been buried yet—are we really leaving like this?”

The Prince of Nanyuan no longer allowed anyone to approach Yin’an Hall. Whether they stayed or left made no difference.

Tonghuan sighed deeply: “I came to serve at Her Highness’s side when she was fourteen. Through nine years of trials and tribulations, I’ve always accompanied her. I was born humble while she was Daye’s most noble person. I don’t know how many lifetimes of good karma I burned to reach her side. Her Highness was different from us—we can eat and drink wherever we go, but she had an iron backbone. When dynasties change, she couldn’t live. Though we’re reluctant beyond measure, for her this was the best outcome. There’s no banquet that doesn’t end. When the time came, she took the first step—we’ll catch up later. If we can see it clearly, there’s really nothing to it.”

These were words of comfort. Seeing a lively person put into a box at the prime of life—who wouldn’t feel sorry for her? Yet they must part eventually—this is life. Everyone looked at each other sorrowfully. Their backbone was gone, their homeland couldn’t be preserved—where to go from here, they couldn’t decide.

Go home—those with family would reunite with relatives first. Those without family would probably head south to avoid the chaos of war.

Xiao You asked Yu Qixia: “What are Master Yu’s plans? Flying far away?”

Yu Qixia shook his head numbly: “Flying far away—where to fly… I’m a eunuch. When the realm changes hands, aside from the imperial clan suffering implication, people like us share a common fate of loss.”

He turned to look at Jin Shi: “What about the Commander?”

Jin Shi’s face showed no emotion, but his gaze was resolute: “Her Highness’s greatest wish was to preserve Daye’s imperial lineage. I’m a military man who knows nothing but selling his life… I plan to return to the capital and do everything in my power to serve the court, to comfort Her Highness’s spirit in heaven.”

His decision was poignant. Though the road ahead was uncertain, for the sake of final loyalty, he still chose to fight—this was the integrity of the Embroidered Uniform Guard. His subordinates would naturally follow him. Yu Qixia wanted to share glory and disgrace with Daye. Tonghuan and Xiao You had homes in Beijing. After discussion, they found they had only one path to take.

“Do you think Pingchuan got the news back? What will those officials who only know how to flap their lips say? And the Emperor? What does he think?”

Tonghuan said indifferently: “Aside from beating their chests and sighing, what else? In times of national crisis, Her Highness could die for her country and maintain her virtue. Those supposedly upstanding men probably lack such courage.”

But what was their regret worth? A life had been forced to extinction. Though the Prince of Nanyuan’s actions were detestable, even more hateful were those hypocritical, invisibly murderous pedants.

At parting, everyone knelt outside the threshold, kowtowing toward Yin’an Hall from afar. Unfortunately, Her Highness could no longer see them. Since they had decided to leave, they wouldn’t look back. Each mounted their carriages and horses. With a crack of whips, they left Dashamo Alley onto Hongwu Street. The sun gradually rose higher, and the road began to bustle with travelers.

Tonghuan leaned against the carriage window, listless and unwilling to speak. But they hadn’t gone far when she heard Xiao You gasp softly. She looked up and asked: “What’s wrong?”

Xiao You’s trembling finger pointed toward the end of the street: “Look quickly—who is that person?”

Tonghuan leaned out the window to look. She suddenly saw a man in splendid robes and beautiful cap standing in the center of the bustling crowd. He stood quietly, separated by several ward walls, gazing south with a face full of sorrow. That outstanding appearance and bearing—even after seven years, she could recognize him at a glance.

He had come to receive Her Highness, hadn’t he? Tonghuan suddenly burst into tears. If only he had come earlier—but it was ultimately too late. Human destiny is like this—missing by just a little results in separation between life and death. He must also be grieving. Her Highness was someone he had watched grow up. Her elevation to Grand Princess, becoming the Princess of Nanyuan—every matter had been handled by him. The country’s fall was already anticipated; they just hadn’t expected her to be so stubborn. If he had come half a month earlier, Her Highness wouldn’t have died. It seemed destined by fate—no matter what, they couldn’t escape. Delayed by a few days, what was missed was a lifetime.

But perhaps it was the Grand Princess’s protection—the Nanyuan army that had attacked the Nine Gates suffered several defeats and was actually driven back to Langfang. This gave the court a chance to breathe. Several retired generals were recalled to service. These old veterans who had fought on battlefields for years—even if long separated from weapons, their strategic and tactical skills remained sharp. Thus the battle line of over a hundred miles gradually extended, forcing the Nanyuan army to retreat and defend Cangzhou. When they truly invaded Beijing, it was already four years later.

When the city fell, a dynasty’s end was announced—there was a feeling of inescapable destiny. Dark masses of troops poured into the Forbidden City like a tide. That imperial center symbolizing supreme power opened its heart wide—unwilling yet helpless.

Lan Zhou stepped into Fengtian Hall and placed Father’s memorial tablet high on the golden dragon throne: “If Father were here, why would it have taken four whole years! Now your son has fulfilled your trust and conquered this realm.”

This general who commanded wind and clouds ultimately couldn’t escape love’s torment. When attacking the Nine Gates, he received news from Nanyuan—not long after the Grand Princess was buried, Father had also followed her underground. This terrible news shattered his backbone, the pain preventing him from straightening up. How many times did midnight dreams leave him trembling in alarm? He thought Father would recover—such a worldly-wise person couldn’t fail to see through it all. But his heart had simply died, and he couldn’t live no matter what. They said during that time he became skeletal, trying every method to torture himself. Until his final moment, he still clutched those pouches and sachets without letting go.

Father was in his prime—his sudden departure was so unexpected. Everyone was watching him; he couldn’t return for the funeral and could only howl facing south. First Mother, then Father—different blows that equally broke his heart. The root of all suffering lay with Murong Gaogong. Without his repeated persecution, why would she have died? If she hadn’t died, Father would have been safe and sound. He had investigated the circumstances. Before her death, she had received a letter from the palace. Ha Tu had seen the letter’s contents, saying the words were tactful. A rough man might not see anything unusual, but for the sensitive Grand Princess, the retreating-to-advance technique between the lines was pressure heavier than Mount Tai.

With her proud backbone, how could she bear such slander? So she died to prove her resolve. Murong Gaogong was finally satisfied.

Without killing him, how could he comfort his late father and prematurely deceased brother? He gave the order to dig three feet deep to unearth that dog emperor. Before long, his subordinates reported back—Emperor Mingzhi’s corpse had been found. This Daoist had some backbone after all, not waiting to be strangled by others but hanging himself with a rope in Changchun Palace.

He hurried to investigate. The emperor who had lost his realm wore only undergarments with bare feet, swaying from the beam. Probably feeling unworthy to call himself emperor, he hadn’t even worn dragon robes. Shouts came from outside. He turned and went out to see a small girl in brocade being roughly dragged down the steps. She silently watched her wailing wet nurse with eyes that reminded him of her. He slightly raised a finger, indicating to spare her life—he knew this was Murong Gaogong’s only daughter.

When the nest is overturned, no eggs remain whole. In the chaotic occupation and cleanup, the bloodthirsty warriors had almost completely purged Emperor Mingzhi’s harem. This included all princes and imperial consorts, plus several thousand palace maids and eunuchs.

The glorious imperial capital ran with rivers of blood. The bloodstains on the imperial streets required tens of thousands of buckets of water to wash clean. The renovated imperial city once again displayed its clear river and calm sea atmosphere. A vigorous dynasty rose from the ground—the nation named Da Ying, era name Qian Shi. From now on, it bore the surname Yuwen.

He was the founding emperor, but he knew all foundations were created by Father. Standing on his shoulders, he had today’s glory. Sometimes he wondered—if Father had become emperor, what kind of enlightened ruler would he have been? His own meager achievements couldn’t match even a fraction of Father’s. And her—as empress mother to the nation, what kind of benevolent kindness and virtue would have spread to all directions. But they were all gone, with no chance for clarification and reconciliation. To the end, she hated Father.

That letter she left him, he had always treasured. She didn’t want to be buried with Father. Though his heart was torn with conflict, this was her dying wish—how could he violate it!

He built the imperial mausoleum, honoring Father as High Emperor, moving his tomb from Nanyuan and reburying him with the highest ceremonial specifications. But she made things difficult for him. If he posthumously titled her empress, she would have to be buried alongside. After repeated deliberation, he could only give her the title of Imperial Noble Consort—not entering the Murong clan’s Tai Mausoleum, nor Father’s Xiao Mausoleum. He built another tomb twenty li east of Xiao Mausoleum, fearing she’d lack incense offerings, specially assigning eunuchs as tomb guardians. Every birth and death anniversary, he personally went to pay respects… Not seeing her off on her final journey remained his eternal regret. He remembered his legal mother as an extraordinarily pure woman untainted by worldly dust.

Naturally this approach brought him much criticism. Whether they called it personal favoritism or pettiness, he gritted his teeth and only said “The imperial will is decided.”

But the Empress Dowager was very pleased: “Now you’re my good son—I didn’t raise you in vain. Rites may be disordered, but name and status cannot be. Grand Princess Hede was after all a princess of the former dynasty. Entering Xiao Mausoleum would be truly improper.”

His expression was bland. Years of warfare had long cultivated the habit of not showing emotions on his face: “Grandmother needn’t comfort your son. This time your son indeed broke the rules, not distinguishing between legitimate and illegitimate, deserving criticism.”

The Empress Dowager was very dissatisfied: “What do you mean not distinguishing legitimate from illegitimate? Now that you’re emperor, where does illegitimate come from? You’ve never untangled this knot in your heart—even now you still call me grandmother!”

Only then did he reluctantly bow and call her Mother: “Your white cat—I had it disposed of.”

The Empress Dowager was startled: “Why?”

Why… because it had eaten the blue-chinned bird she gave him—naturally it couldn’t be tolerated.

This imperial palace was too magnificent, too vast. Though he ruled here, there were many places he’d never visited. One day he entered Wenyuan Pavilion, a place specifically for compiling books. The lower level was where officials conducted business, the second level housed various classics and writings from all dynasties. The third level was spacious and bright with an imperial couch, prepared for him to ascend and read at any time.

He browsed the bookshelves and selected a volume of “Records of Ye” written by former dynasty Hanlin scholar Chen Jihou. It recorded major events throughout history and detailed lives of direct imperial family members. He knew the fates of most imperial relatives. The Murong family had left no one—she was gone, and they didn’t even have a channel to beg for their lives.

He followed the light to the third level and sat on the imperial couch, slowly browsing. Golden rays shone through the straight mullioned windows, countless tiny motes of dust dancing in the light. Before his eyes rose the image of her holding a pinwheel, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him on the steps. At that time they were carefree, thinking it would last forever… He sighed, this sigh dispersing the vision, leaving him melancholy and dazed for a long time before returning to his senses.

Slowly turning pages, in the section on Emperor Xiaozong’s children, he found the textual record about her. Just a few short lines encompassed an entire life—

“Imperial Princess Hede, personal name Jun, courtesy name Wanwan, daughter of Emperor Xiaozong, born to Virtuous Empress. In the first year of Longhua, Emperor Huizong ascended the throne and honored her as Grand Princess. In the first year of Kaibao, she married Prince Yuwen Liang Shi of Nanyuan. The Princess was intelligent from youth, loved reading, excelled at painting. At four years old she practiced rough grass script with natural flowing style—Emperor Xiaozong especially doted on her. When Emperor Mingzhi received the mandate, he was obsessed with Daoist learning. When the Princess’s marriage was imminent, she remonstrated three times, and the Emperor agreed, but soon changed his mind again. In the second year of Kaibao, the Princess was pregnant. The Emperor urgently ordered her return to the capital, treating her very poorly, causing great resentment from her consort. When Prince Zhen’an rebelled, her consort led elite troops to suppress it, executed Prince Ding, the rebels were routed, and over six hundred heads were taken. He was awarded the position of Acting Right Xiaowei General. In the sixth year of Kaibao, Nanyuan usurped the throne. The Princess wailed: ‘Since my husband has rebelled, how can I remain connected by marriage?’ Shortly after, she died for her principles. The Emperor climbed a tower to look and weep, posthumously granting her the title Zhao.”