My father was the Grand Marshal of Ning Guo, commander of the empire’s armies. Yet he carried one regret — he held the mightiest military force in his hands, and never once fought a single battle.
It wasn’t his fault. The realm was split five ways, and Ning Guo was the strongest of them. Over three hundred years it had slowly become the wealthiest and most powerful of the five kingdoms, and the other four dared not provoke war. So for the past several decades the realm had known nothing but peace — not a single war. The only places troops could be used were things like bandits blocking mountain roads or robbers harassing the people, but surely one couldn’t have a kingdom’s Grand Marshal mobilize an army to go put down a few thieves? The whole world would laugh their teeth out! Of course, I often saw victory dispatches from various regions reporting a band of bandits wiped out here or there, and even then my father couldn’t help but feel a flicker of joy, which honestly made me sigh for him.
So my father was depressed, chronically depressed. Even when Prince Anqing, unwilling to enjoy an idle life of privilege, requested to command the Right Flank Army and guard the western border city, my father paid it no mind at all — as if he’d casually tossed the Right Flank Army to Prince Anqing like a toy, saying, “Here, go play with it.”
With no war to fight, the troops still had to be trained. An army is maintained for a thousand days to be used in a single moment. Naturally, “maintained” didn’t just mean feeding them well and handing out wages — my father was extremely dedicated to troop training, and the moment he stepped into the barracks, the old man lit up with energy. As for me, I’d followed him to the barracks since I was small.
I was his eldest legitimate daughter. My father had one wife and five concubines. My mother died in difficult childbirth when she had me, and afterward, no matter how many wives and concubines my father took, I remained his only child. He loved me as a treasure beyond price, and there was certainly a part of him that raised me as if I were a son.
Spending so much time in the barracks, I found I’d come to love the place, and I loved military strategy and troop formations too. My father taught me patiently, and the generals in the barracks, having nothing better to do, loved telling me things as well. Combined with my natural intelligence and wide reading since childhood, I took all sorts of formations I’d seen and heard about and arranged them just to play. One day, a formation I’d tried on a whim, just testing my skill, actually stumped the officers and soldiers — it became like a game, both sides racking their brains over setting and breaking the formation. My father laughed heartily; training troops this way turned out to be rather fun, and from then on he let me devise strategies, set formations, and move troops as I pleased. Everyone enjoyed it.
Finally, the year I turned twelve, I said to my father, “Father, shouldn’t we go fight some other kingdoms? Isn’t it boring, always just fighting amongst ourselves for fun?”
My father’s own buried longing stirred, and desire flickered in his eyes too — he also wanted, just once, to thoroughly satisfy himself killing enemies on a real battlefield. After all, having served decades as Grand Marshal with troops and generals under his command, never having fought a war was hard to justify. What’s more, a soldier’s fighting spirit and loyalty are truly forged only on the battlefield.
That year, my aunt was promoted from Noble Consort to Empress of Ning Guo. The Wang family was one of the great clans of Ning Guo, and with my aunt as Empress and my father, the clan head, commanding the nation’s entire military (save what was given to Prince Anqing), our power was at its zenith. To put it plainly — if the Wang family grew displeased, the King of Ning wouldn’t be happy either, because memorials would immediately start pouring in reporting bandits growing thick in this region or that region unable to collect taxes. Down to trivialities like whether this year’s silk for the palace consorts’ hair ornaments should be sourced from Jingcheng or purchased from Chen Guo. It vexed the King of Ning to distraction, and whatever schemes the ministers loyal to him — Chancellor Gu and his faction — proposed, the court officials aligned with the Wang family would step forward to stir up trouble, both sides citing classical precedent and arguing endlessly in court. My father, of course, rarely spoke up during these things, because he knew that once these people had argued the King dizzy, he’d return to the inner palace, and my aunt would lean against his pillow and blow another cool draft into his ear. With his head aching, the King would start off just trying to play peacemaker, but over time he’d come to understand it was better to just keep the Wang family happy — everyone happy, all harmonious. I used to think my father’s enthusiasm for power was largely because he had no war to fight, nothing else to occupy him. Later I discovered that wasn’t quite it.
Although my father’s influence was immense, my influence over my father was strong enough too. But when it came to a matter as significant as raising an army to conquer other kingdoms, we still needed to go into the palace first and align with my aunt. So my father took me into the palace.
It was my first time entering the palace. While my father discussed matters with my aunt, I went off on my own to wander the Imperial Garden. I’d heard this garden had been designed around birds by our ancestor emperor. That ancient emperor believed there was an immortal palace above the nine heavens, and that birds were the messengers of the heavenly gods, so he built this enormous garden hoping the gods above could look down and see this bird shape belonging to Ning Guo, and bestow their favor on the kingdom.
The garden had countless forking paths. In idle times, that pleasure-loving ancestor emperor used to bring young palace consorts here to play hide-and-seek, which happened to suit my own taste for laying out formations. I wandered the forking paths of the Imperial Garden, pondering the ancient maze diagrams passed down from antiquity. After walking a while, I heard men’s voices up ahead.
I hid among the flowers, peering out curiously — in the pavilion sat two young men dressed in imperial prince’s robes, playing chess. The elder one had bright brows and starlit eyes; the younger was refined and free-spirited. I heard the elder one laugh heartily: “Fourth brother, you’ve lost again — why hasn’t your chess improved at all?”
The younger one answered: “Elder brother’s skill is extraordinary. Zili admits he can’t compare.”
I thought — this must be my distant cousin Crown Prince Liu Jian and Fourth Prince Liu Fei, two of the famous Five Young Masters of Wind City. After a while, the two of them rose and left. I walked slowly into the pavilion; the chess game they’d just played hadn’t been cleared away yet, and I studied it carefully.
Strange. Looking at where the two of them had been sitting, the Fourth Prince’s position hadn’t looked like a losing one — yet right as the game approached its midpoint, he’d made a deliberate misstep, one utterly inconsistent with how he’d been building his position. This Fourth Prince was interesting — letting the Crown Prince win? I smiled, quite pleased with myself; his deliberate mistake had been placed with remarkable subtlety, and the Crown Prince hadn’t even noticed. I couldn’t help thinking this Fourth Prince, only three years older than me, had a very deep mind indeed.
After leaving the palace with my father, he grew even more despondent. It turned out that no matter how much my aunt nagged him this time, the King of Ning simply refused to agree to send troops. Ah, he really was a king suited only to preserving what already existed, never one to build an empire! I felt stifled too, and so I quietly begged my father to allocate new recruits to me year after year, and began training my own troops in a valley in the Black Mountain forest. I dearly hoped that one day I could lead my own army, mighty and unstoppable, undefeated in every battle.
I, Wang Yanhui, would fulfill the ambition my father never realized — to conquer the four kingdoms and unify the realm under one rule. I would make every man submit to me, not merely offer me a few words of praise from their lips.
After I came of age, many suitors sought my hand. I refused them all, one by one. None of them shared my ambition and lofty aspirations — I looked down on them. But then, in my seventeenth year, my aunt summoned me into the palace. She studied me for a long while, then said, “Yanhui, how would you like to marry the Crown Prince?”
I refused. I disliked the royal palace — once a consort entered, she couldn’t leave the valley the palace sat in until death — and besides, I had no fondness for a Crown Prince who couldn’t even see that the Fourth Prince had deliberately let him win at chess.
My aunt sighed. “Jian’er is my son, the future King of Ning. How can a daughter of my Wang family not become Empress?”
Empress? Ruling over the inner palace? No — what I wanted to command was an army, not a collection of consorts.
For the first time in my life, my father scolded me: “You’d disregard the family entirely! If the Crown Prince marries another woman, even if he’s your aunt’s son, it will ultimately weaken the power of our Wang family!”
I stubbornly held my ground. My father sighed. “If you don’t become Empress, then after the King passes, Chancellor Gu and Prince Anqing and the rest will surely move against the Wang clan. The Crown Prince is mild-tempered — our Wang clan will be finished. I’ve spent years planning this. If you become Empress, with power in hand, you can do as you please — isn’t that better? The King of Ning refuses to send troops his whole life, but if you bear him a prince, with your intelligence, holding power with my support behind you — later, once Ning Guo becomes the Wang family’s realm, if you wish to personally lead troops into battle, who’s to stop you?”
Women in Ning Guo held no status at all, let alone commanding armies in war. Perhaps, if I became Crown Princess, and later Empress, I could influence my cousin the Crown Prince to break that precedent. I couldn’t foresee what kind of son I might have. I simply couldn’t bear to live this life achieving nothing. Watching my father’s troubled expression, I silently consented to their plan.
That spring, Princess Huguo held a grand peach blossom banquet. The result of several factions balancing against each other was that the Crown Prince would choose one of three women as his consort: myself, Chancellor Gu’s daughter, or Chancellor Li’s daughter. Those other two were known as the twin peerless beauties of Wind City, both said to be exceptional at the qin — I thought little of it; such delicate ladies’ arts were never something I bothered with.
With my aunt backing me, I felt no urgency, and hid behind a gauze curtain to listen to the two of them compete at the qin. I’d assumed both were simply refined, cultured young ladies like any other — but then Chancellor Li’s eldest daughter, Miss Qinglei, played a piece called “Autumn Waters” that suddenly struck me as the work of a kindred spirit. I thought to myself, if the Crown Prince had any discernment and chose Li Qinglei, there’d at least be something about him worth appreciating.
He didn’t disappoint me — he openly declared his affection for Li Qinglei before everyone, and a weight lifted from my heart. From then on, I didn’t need to love him, but if I could influence him, that would be enough. After all, when a person falls in love, they become indecisive — and in matters of war and strategy, that’s the gravest of flaws.
Under the combined influence of my aunt and the Wang family’s power, Crown Prince Liu Jian named me his primary consort, and Li Qinglei his secondary consort. Yet the King insisted on betrothing Chancellor Gu’s daughter to the Fourth Prince as his primary consort. My heart sank at that. The King of Ning was going to such lengths to find the Fourth Prince a backer among the old ministers, to balance the factions — could it be that the heir he truly favored in his heart was Liu Fei?
The day I married the Crown Prince, Li Qinglei was carried into the Eastern Palace in a bridal palanquin on the very same day. In the bridal chamber, the Crown Prince stood there woodenly, watching me, resentment and reluctance flickering in his eyes. It left me deeply unsettled.
I knew he’d fallen in love with Li Qinglei and wished he could have made her his primary consort, but had no choice in the matter. She and I were married to him on the same day, and by custom he was obligated to stay in my chambers that first night — but I knew his heart couldn’t let go of her. I had my own pride; I would never force a man who didn’t love me. So I gently apologized, claiming I’d caught a chill and wasn’t feeling well.
The Crown Prince let out a visible sigh of relief, and without even bothering with proper courtesies, hurried off to Consort Li’s chambers. Even in a marriage without love, a young woman still carries some shy anticipation in her heart — and he treated me like this?! Resentment rose in me at once.
I stayed “ill” for seven days. He only sent someone to offer the briefest, most perfunctory inquiries after my health, as though it were an obligation he couldn’t avoid — which infuriated me. So I simply let myself fall “ill” again after recovering, then “recover” and fall “ill” once more, thoroughly ensuring he could set his mind at ease and go enjoy himself with Li Qinglei without a shred of guilt.
In the Crown Prince’s eyes, I was merely the consort he’d had no choice but to name because of the Wang family’s power, while that secondary consort — cultured, graceful, and extraordinary — was his true love. What’s more, she was far more beautiful than I. Whether I won the Crown Prince’s favor mattered nothing to me, but my status mattered a great deal, and I would never let Li Qinglei encroach on the power that would one day be mine.
Knowing one’s enemy as well as oneself had become a habit for me, so I couldn’t help paying attention to this daughter of the Chancellor’s household whose qin playing had moved even me. And yet, she never played “Autumn Waters” again. Her skill remained exceptional, but each subsequent piece lacked that same quality of a heart yearning toward some distant horizon. Whenever I sat lost in thought over her playing, I noticed — was she afraid, or guilty? — my gaze kept catching a flicker of panic in Li Qinglei’s eyes. It piqued my great curiosity.
Not long after the Crown Prince’s wedding, the Fourth Prince married Chancellor Gu’s daughter. The Crown Prince held a night banquet for his fourth brother, and I used the occasion to test Li Qinglei. To my surprise, it drew out her younger sister, Li Qingluo. Just thirteen or fourteen years old, and the moment she struck up “Guangling Sanction,” I nearly laughed — she was the one who truly belonged to “Autumn Waters.”
What a night, what a show. The Crown Prince grew suspicious, and Li Qinglei resolutely swore off ever playing the qin again — something I rather admired; she gave no one another chance to test her. And then there was the Fourth Prince — five years since I’d seen him, and he was still hiding his true self before the Crown Prince, just as he had that day in the pavilion letting him win at chess. Young Lord Liu Jue of Prince Anqing’s household showed remarkable courage and insight. The Chancellor’s three daughters fell into discord amongst themselves, and Vice Minister of Rites Cheng Shiyue acted with decisive resolve…
And the Crown Prince I’d chosen to support — he seemed to show not the slightest judgment at all, letting so many officials’ family members erupt into open conflict right there at court. Ah, had it been me, I’d have spoken soothing words, then quietly gotten to the bottom of things afterward — and if Qingluo truly had harmed her sister, I’d have quietly informed Chancellor Li rather than making such a public scene, which was tantamount to accusing the Right Chancellor himself of failing to raise his daughters properly — and he was, after all, the Right Chancellor of the court. I shook my head inwardly, feeling lost about the future my father had planned for me.
That night, because of one small suggestion of mine, I’d gotten to watch quite the show — genuinely thrilling; staying cooped up in the palace was unbearably dull otherwise. I hinted to the Crown Prince that given Young Lord Liu Jue’s display, he might soon gain another brother-in-law. The Crown Prince immediately grew even more attentive and tender toward Qinglei — and I, of all people, had married a man like this! That night, he actually came to my chambers. Who did he think he was? Did he imagine he was rewarding me with his favor for my “helpful” hint? I had my attendants turn him away, and he showed not the slightest anger or suspicion.
Unable to sleep, I threw on a robe and went out, and from far off heard the sound of a flute drifting from Yuli Palace. It was the Fourth Prince’s flute. The notes were mournful, laden with a thousand sorrows. I’d heard the Fourth Prince lost his mother young — he was the legitimate son of the previous Empress, and should by rights have held the highest honor, yet in an instant had become the person my aunt despised most. The King of Ning didn’t dare offend the Wang family, and so the Fourth Prince became the most neglected person in the entire palace.
His flute betrayed the sorrow in his heart, as though everything he suppressed poured out through its notes. I couldn’t help but grow curious — what was he holding back? Why did he have to hold it back? The grief in that flute was so plain to hear. I smiled, and quietly ordered my people to look carefully into everything about the Fourth Prince.
That investigation revealed a great deal — just from how strictly he ran his own household alone, I understood much. I suspected he harbored ambitions to contend with the Crown Prince for the throne. A pity he had no real power yet.
I deliberately tested the Crown Prince: “Our Ning Guo is prosperous and its people at peace — once Your Highness ascends the throne, what will you most wish to do?”
Liu Jian answered: “To be with my beloved consort Lei’er, and see the kingdom free of calamity — that alone would be this humble prince’s fortune.”
I could only sigh. Even if I became Empress one day, he’d likely be just like the King of Ning — never willing to speak of war, let alone allow me, the mother of the nation, onto a battlefield. My heart sank into utter gloom. A man who didn’t love me, a man I couldn’t even admire — what would it matter to sit upon the Empress’s throne? Would all that power be confined within the six palaces? My father said that once there were heirs, we’d slowly turn the Liu family’s realm into the Wang family’s realm — but that wasn’t what I wanted. The thought of only ever watching others move freely through the world beyond the palace, using power I’d granted them to roam at will, while I sat alone and lofty on a throne — it felt like scalding oil poured over my heart, searing and unbearable.
The day Liu Fei married, I stayed up very late. My attendants led me on a moonlit walk along the garden paths. Without realizing it, I found myself near Yuli Palace. I told them to extinguish the lanterns, and sat alone by the lake.
Under the moonlight, the little lake formed by Suiyu Spring wound gently through the palace grounds, glimmering, quiet and beautiful. Suddenly I glimpsed a flash of red robes leap over the palace wall and drift into Yuli Palace. Soon after, that flute sound rose again — desolate and sorrowful, yet carrying a soaring, heaven-reaching ambition within it.
What business would take Liu Fei out of the palace on his wedding night? He seemed deeply agitated; the flute betrayed feelings he’d hidden for years, and I could hear within it a spirit of bloodshed and slaughter. I couldn’t help but smile — I’d chosen him, and I was wagering he would accept.
Two days later, I deliberately arranged to seem to run into him, as if by chance, along a path he habitually walked through the palace. He was courteous toward me. Had I not already seen through him, I too would have taken him for nothing more than a respectful younger brother-in-law. When I dismissed the attendants around us, it startled him slightly, though he stood there composed.
I said slowly, “Aren’t you afraid, Fourth Brother, that being seen alone with me like this might cause misunderstanding?”
A faint, distant smile always hung on his face; he answered in a low voice, “It’s said Your Highness possesses extraordinary strategic vision. This meeting must carry deeper meaning. Zili is listening.”
Speaking with an intelligent man was always a pleasure. I went straight to the point: “If I help Fourth Brother ascend the throne, will you one day spare my Wang clan a path to survive?”
Shock and alarm flickered across his face, but the composure beneath his eyes couldn’t escape my notice. I smiled. “Let me tell you what I know, and you listen. With your martial skill, anyone within twenty zhang would be known to you.”
He said nothing, only watched me silently, that practiced expression falling away. I deliberately turned my back to him, not wishing to pry further into his heart. “You’ve hidden your strength and ambition before the Crown Prince for years. I can help you realize them, one by one. I can turn you from a man with no military power at all into one who commands vast armies, and give you years to recover and prepare besides. With an ally like me on the inside, your ascension will go far more smoothly.”
I knew he’d be tempted. Liu Fei currently only handled trivial matters in the Ministry of Rites, and held no troops at all. The Crown Prince, meanwhile, truly had the makings of a ruler who could govern the realm, and had the Wang family behind him. It was only that the King of Ning disliked the Crown Prince, because the Wang family had moved too fast, too aggressively, driving the King to the edge of murderous intent. Even so, sooner than name Prince Anqing’s own young son Liu Jue as heir, he’d never let a prince backed so heavily by the Wang family take the throne.
I continued, “My terms are simple. You will not exterminate the Wang clan. As for me, you may choose one of two things. First, I could become your Imperial Noble Consort — I won’t compete with Gu Tianlin for it, it would be a title in name only. Second, you conceal my identity, and when you go to conquer the four kingdoms, name me your strategist. My dream was never the throne, but to unify the realm under one rule. I’ve studied the art of war since childhood, and love nothing more than commanding troops and laying formations. If I could command our Ning Guo’s great armies to achieve this conquest, Yanhui would live and die without regret. The day the conquest is complete, I’ll find some quiet place, take on a few disciples, and that will be enough.”
I finished, and turned back with a smile. “If you agree, look me in the eye, and let’s seal it with a clasped hand.” In that moment I knew — if he agreed, one of two fates awaited me from then on: either he honored his word and I realized my dream, or he killed me once he took the throne. But either way, my Wang clan would not be exterminated, and that much, at least, I would have done right by my father and by our clan.
My father wanted Ning Guo for himself; the path he’d set out for me wasn’t impossible to follow, but ultimately I had no wish to spend my whole life mired in struggles for imperial power. Even if the Crown Prince won the realm, I’d still have to help him deal with Prince Li afterward. This gamble staked everything the Wang family had, and staked my own dream besides. Looking into Zili’s eyes and seeing that commanding, incisive ambition — that sense that here was someone I could stand shoulder to shoulder with to unify the realm — I threw myself into it without a backward glance.
His expression remained still as water, giving nothing away. My terms held nothing but advantage for him — once he secured military power, he’d know soon enough whether I’d spoken the truth. We stood there gazing at each other like that, and slowly he extended a hand. I laughed lightly and clasped it. At the touch of his broad, warm palm, my heart skipped a beat.
Not long after, Chancellor Li’s youngest daughter Li Qingluo was abducted, and the King of Ning used the opportunity to strip the Wang family of command over the Southern Army. The Crown Prince looked utterly dejected, at a complete loss. My conviction only deepened — that in the future, Prince Anqing’s whole household would remain loyal to the King and stand behind Liu Fei. Seeing this clearly, I knew Liu Fei now had the strength to truly contend with the Crown Prince. I resolved to offer him one more push with a scheme of my own.
The day Liu Fei departed for the border city, I stood at a high point within the palace, watching that procession grow smaller and smaller in the distance. There was no carriage among them — he hadn’t brought his princess consort with him. My heart felt an unexpected flicker of joy. I touched the mark of chastity on my arm — I had ways enough to keep the Crown Prince from ever coming near me. What’s more, with scheme after scheme unfolding, however warmly he spoke to me, his eyes were always full of wary distance.
I couldn’t say when it started, but I began to find myself lingering outside Yuli Palace. He was long gone by then — his Prince Li’s residence now lay outside the palace grounds. And yet every time I walked that path, I still seemed to hear that lingering flute song. I had always been a clear-headed, level person. I found myself recalling my pact with Zili more than once. More than once I forced myself to face what was truly in my heart, and found there, unmistakably, a thread of affection and admiration for him.
The Crown Prince never learned much of my aunt’s formidable methods. He was handsome, and gentle and courteous to others. Had it not been for my ambition, Zili’s ambition, and the King’s wariness, he could easily have become a second King of Ning, keeping the realm at peace for decades more. So long as Ning Guo never sent troops out, unless all four kingdoms attacked at once, none stood much chance against us. Like the time Chen Guo invaded our Linnan City — the result was tens of thousands of taels paid in reparations and annual tribute sent to court.
Decades of peace and prosperity, a life of untroubled growth. The Crown Prince was a hothouse flower, while Zili was a bramble — carefully hiding his thorns, surviving cautiously out in the wilds. Naturally I admired the latter more. I let the Crown Prince’s reliance on me grow ever deeper, and I let him carefully conceal his devotion to Li Qinglei, fearful of provoking my jealousy.
After Zili left, I fell gravely “ill” once more. The imperial physician declared I couldn’t conceive for three years. The Crown Prince was overcome with grief, and I watched coldly as he performed his “sorrow” beside me. In his eyes, I was, like Zili, a cactus — one that had suddenly, unexpectedly, bloomed a flower unlike any other, something he wanted to pluck yet still feared getting pricked by all those thorns surrounding it.
Three years passed. The King of Ning died, and Zili returned to court for the mourning. He arrived at Yuxiang Palace tall and composed, and even the Crown Prince sensed it — he was like a blade about to leave its sheath — how much more so did I feel it. I watched, admiring, as he emerged from his cocoon transformed, and secretly my heart stirred toward him. I found myself hoping he would honor his promise.
Even Prince Anqing’s loyal son Zili kept his intentions utterly hidden — his depths had only grown deeper. And so, once again, I watched clear-eyed as one act followed another. First Liu Jue rushed back to Wind City leading troops, then the cousins within Prince Anqing’s household nearly came to blows over Li Qingluo. I couldn’t help admiring the performances they gave in their scramble for the throne. But my eyes, my heart, could not be fooled. Li Qingluo’s delicate, lovely face left the Crown Prince dazed; I remembered her qin playing, her bearing when she’d entered the palace. My heart trembled, and I understood everything at once — the sorrow in Zili’s flute, that thread of longing, had all along been tied to her.
Zili hadn’t returned to Wind City in three years, leaving Gu Tianlin out in the cold for three years. I couldn’t escape the petty jealousy any ordinary woman feels, and had secretly hoped it was at least partly for my sake. Only now did I understand — it had all been for Li Qingluo.
No one, no one at all, knew of my sorrow, my sense of loss.
Was this longing of mine because I had fallen in love with him? I turned the question over countless times, and in the end still denied it. Perhaps I admired him; perhaps he was the kind of man I’d always wanted; perhaps because of these things I’d developed some thread of feeling for him. But still, more than anything, what I wanted from him was military power — to march to war at his side, to have him adopt my strategies and seize the realm. Such a wish would be hard for an ordinary woman to understand. But for me, that childhood ambition, that urgent hunger to conquer the world, had always run in my blood.
Now that he’d returned, I decided to give Zili a little reminder. He and Liu Jue wanted to draw out my Northern Army — very well, I’d let them see what I was truly capable of. I’d considered donning armor and facing the two of them myself. On reflection, I put the Crown Prince forward instead, revealing nothing to Zili, and let the two brothers fight it out for real. The Crown Prince stood a good chance of losing — he’d never commanded troops before — but by my arrangement, Zili and his side wouldn’t gain much advantage either. After all, I was still a daughter of the Wang family; I owed the Crown Prince at least a fair chance. If the Crown Prince won, I would follow my father’s plan and let the Wang family replace the Liu dynasty after all.
The night before the great battle, my aunt asked me to stay and keep her company. She was unbearably tense. I smiled and reassured her it would be fine — in my view, even if Zili became King, he wouldn’t hold a grudge against the women of the inner palace. My aunt murmured, “He’ll come to kill me. That day he returned from the border city, I caught the scent of murderous intent around Yuxiang Palace from far away — that same grieving sound as before.”
My heart lurched. Could it be that Zili’s mother, the former Empress, had died under suspicious circumstances? Heavens, how had I miscalculated something so vital? I pressed her urgently, and my aunt gave a cold laugh. “It was I who spent three years administering a slow poison. I’d meant to carry that secret alone into my grave.”
Her words came out light and cold, yet struck me like a bolt from clear skies, leaving me unable to stand steady. Was there anything left I couldn’t understand now? However wise and benevolent a ruler the Crown Prince might prove, with the Wang family’s power having grown so overbearing for years, and a wife’s murder besides — how could the King of Ning ever let it rest! That flute Zili always carried had belonged to his mother — he carried it with him every day. How deep must that hatred run?
I walked out of Yufeng Palace, powerless, and made my way alone to the Imperial Garden. At night, every path here glowed faintly with soft light. It looked like a great tangled web of silk threads, and I was the butterfly caught in it. I hated my aunt — why hadn’t she told me sooner that she was the one who’d murdered Zili’s mother! However extraordinary my talents, he could never marry the daughter of his enemy’s clan. Let alone naming me Imperial Noble Consort — he’d have to withstand the pressure of court and commoner alike. However boundless his ability, with Liu Jue and Gu Tianxiang at his side, he’d hardly need me as his strategist.
Zili — he had only ever been using me. I was the delicacy that had delivered itself to his door. The one thing I had failed utterly to account for was this hatred. There could only be one ending left for me now: death.
I could still have fought on with what remained of the Wang family’s military strength, but what would be the point? Even in victory, I’d only grow old and die alone within the palace walls. Sitting on the Empress’s throne, squabbling with a crowd of women over favor — that was never what I wanted. And besides, Ning Guo’s strength would be gravely weakened, and my dream of conquering the realm would become nothing but ash. I chose instead to let Zili have his victory whole. Even if I died, he would still fulfill my dream in my place.
That night I sent Zili a letter, containing only two lines: “The Wang clan may fall apart. I send you the Northern Army besides, for your use — in exchange for my clan’s lives.”
I found myself curious — why hadn’t he loved the gentle, lovely Gu Tianlin, nor Yanhui who could have stood as his equal, but instead fallen for Prince Pingnan’s betrothed?
Every young woman has her own dream. Mine simply happened to be different: to gallop across battlefields. Among all the men I’d encountered in the barracks, and among the Five Young Masters of Wind City, only Zili had ever truly matched me. But he didn’t love me. What a pity.
My father, having had his spirit broken outside the eastern city gate by Prince Anqing and his son, slunk back into the palace in disgrace. I told him the cause was lost — there was no point supporting the Crown Prince any longer. We couldn’t hold the palace forever, and the Crown Prince had already fallen into Zili’s hands. All we could do now was preserve ourselves. When my father heard me speak of retiring in peace to preserve our lives, fury blazed in his eyes. “Yanhui, it was you who handed the Right Flank Army to Liu Fei — what exactly were you thinking?”
I knelt before my father, weeping. In an instant he understood everything, and the whole of him collapsed into despair. My heart ached for him — after finally, finally having a chance at real war, it had all fallen apart before it began; the power he’d spent so long cultivating had crumbled to dust in an instant; his dream of conquering the realm, of replacing the Liu dynasty with the Wang dynasty, all destroyed by my own selfish choice. I used his own words from years before against him: “You are head of the Wang clan. If you insist on acting rashly now, you would be disregarding the family entirely.”
He sighed. “In the end — still just a woman.”
I smiled. “Father, our Wang family has no shortage of talent. Someday, surely, there will be one who can lead troops to war — the Wang name will rise again!” He looked at me, and a small spark of life flickered back into his eyes — the last, desperate hope left to him. I was comforting him, sustaining the rest of his life with a distant dream. My own heart was bitter — I had gambled and lost. Zili’s mind ran too deep; he would never let the Wang family rise again.
The day of the great battle, I had Li Qingluo brought into the palace. She was remarkably composed. I sat before her, studying her. She truly was beautiful, especially her eyes, glinting in the dim light. A lovely face made all the more radiant by them. I wanted to sigh deeply. It was true that men loved beautiful women — because I found myself, gazing at her beauty, genuinely soothed, unable to look away.
She rambled on about this and that, and whatever she wanted to eat or drink, I provided. When she said men loved power, money, and beauty, but loved most the beauty beyond their reach, I didn’t entirely agree. Perhaps that was true of most men. What I, Wang Yanhui, wanted was a man who could admire me, who could stand as my equal. Zili wouldn’t — so he wasn’t that man.
I listened to her stories, stories of women who became emperors, and felt genuinely stirred — if only this world, this dynasty, were the one she described, where a woman could rule a kingdom in her own right! But it wasn’t. This was a world ruled by men. Even becoming Empress, even controlling the King himself, one could only ever operate from behind the curtain.
Li Qingluo truly had the gift of a storyteller — she wasn’t merely a beautiful face after all. Such learning was rare indeed. Perhaps that was part of why Zili, and Prince Pingnan too, loved this quality that set her apart.
I was, without question, unwilling to accept my fate. Everything had come to nothing. My only ending left was death. I would not be exiled with the Crown Prince to some confined courtyard to live out a life of misery.
But even in death, I would make sure Zili, that everyone, remembered me. I told Li Qingluo the secret of my alliance with Zili, trusting she would keep it locked in her heart. I made sure to also tell her that Zili’s three years of coldness toward Gu Tianlin had been because of me. Had I said it was because of Qingluo herself, she might have softened — what depth of devotion that would represent! But by claiming it for myself, Li Qingluo would never accept him. Zili would never have her! To make certain of it, I administered Soul-Losing Jade-Wick Incense to Li Qingluo, letting Liu Jue and Zili suffer the headache of it — better still if it drove them to blows. Even if it didn’t, no matter — this poison had come from the King of Xia Guo, who’d long been in contact with the Wang family. I suspected the poison my aunt had used to kill the former Empress had come from the same source. Let Ning Guo fall into chaos — only in chaos could war ever break out again!
Nor would I kill Qinglei — let her stay by the Crown Prince’s side, living out their days confined to some remote corner of the world. Those who had nothing to do with me had never concerned me.
Zili finally came. I knelt submissively at his feet. Knowing full well he’d only ever used me, knowing his decision, my heart still gave him one last chance.
He said, “With your intelligence, surely you saw this coming long ago?”
Enough — no need to keep up pretenses. I rose to my feet, straightened my robes. I truly was his equal in every way. But what could be done about it now? Father — this is all I could do for you, for our family. If I could not have my wish fulfilled, then what did death matter?
I led him into the underground chamber. Of course I had no intention of killing him — I wanted my soul to witness his glorious conquest of the four kingdoms. I glanced at Li Qingluo, whom I’d kept suspended there for the better part of a day — she was the key to the entire scheme I’d set in motion for after my death.
I looked at Zili again, and saw genuine anguish in him. I didn’t doubt his words — that he’d give up the throne, even his life, for Li Qingluo. But I also knew that intention was one thing, and action another. I couldn’t help laughing until tears came.
Suddenly I felt overwhelmed with sorrow — I had underestimated the power of love. I thought, if Qingluo had married him, nagging and clamoring to go to war herself, surely Zili would have indulged her too.
He said he was willing to honor our pact, and in that instant I wanted to weep. I was still young after all, still had a girl’s heart somewhere in me. So being loved was its own kind of happiness too — joy didn’t come only from realizing one’s ambitions. In that instant my mind changed entirely — I would kill Li Qingluo, and make him watch her die before him.
Cheng Shiyue’s appearance was something I hadn’t foreseen — this year’s top scholar, one of the Five Young Masters of Wind City. He knew the mechanisms of the chamber, and his martial skill was extraordinary — he broke through my crossbow trap with ease and made his way into the underground chamber to save Li Qingluo. Who exactly was he? I wanted to ask, but my strength was nearly spent. I collapsed into Zili’s arms, and his embrace left my heart utterly weak.
Unable to kill Li Qingluo, every plan I’d set in motion would still unfold exactly as intended. I gathered what strength remained to look once more at this new King of Ning who could have helped me realize my ambitions — and in that moment, I finally understood just how much I still longed for him.
Looking back on my whole life, including my alliance with Zili — I regret none of it. Every scheme I could play, I played. In my next life, let me be reborn a man. And if not that, then let me be a woman who, like Li Qingluo, finds true and genuine love.