Of all the people in the entire capital today, the most triumphant was undoubtedly Xie Changgeng’s mother, Shen Shi.

She had been a country woman by birth. The husband she had married was learned and well-read, but his family had fallen into decline and fortune had never favored him in officialdom — he ended up as nothing more than a postal relay station master. She had scraped by with him through more than a decade of hard times, then had the misfortune of becoming a widow, followed by years of living in fear and worry. But she was a woman of great good fortune in her later years, for her son made a success of himself. A decade or more later, today, not only had he been granted the title of a prince and elevated to a high command, he was about to wed the niece of the current Empress Dowager.

Several months prior, just as Xie Changgeng was engaged in the campaign against the King of Zhao, Shen Shi learned of Empress Dowager Liu’s intention to forge a marriage alliance. She was overjoyed and immediately sent messenger after messenger — three times in a row — to her son out in the field, urging him to accept. In recent days, she received the happy news that the marriage was settled, and promptly urged her son to bring her to the capital.

At last, everything had come as she had wished. Today, Eunuch Yang from Empress Dowager Liu’s side came to escort Shen Shi into the palace, saying that the Empress Dowager wished to consult with the old madam about the marriage arrangements.

On a joyous occasion like this, Shen Shi could not help but think, first of all, of the Changsha princess whom her son had divorced long ago. She recalled how back then, she had pleaded so hard for her to come back, and the woman had still refused. Shen Shi had felt indignant and disgruntled every time she thought of that matter afterward. Today, at last, she felt the satisfaction of having the last word.

This was the kind of marriage truly worthy of her son — a man exceptional among men. As for the attitude of Eunuch Yang, who had come to receive her, it could be described as nothing short of servile and obsequious.

The most favored figure at the side of the current Empress Dowager, humbling himself before her like this — Shen Shi’s vanity was, in that moment, gratified beyond measure.

She finally set aside some of the disappointment and resentment she had accumulated over her son’s refusal to bring her grandchild back — an act she had deemed unfilial.

Xie Changgeng escorted her to the palace gate and said respectfully, “Mother, go inside and discuss matters with the Empress Dowager at your leisure. Once your son has finished attending to his affairs, he will come later to escort Mother out of the palace.”

Eunuch Yang stood to one side, beaming, and said flatteringly, “I have long heard that the Prince of Qin is a great paragon of filial piety — today I see that the rumors fall short of the truth. What fortune this old madam has — who in all the world can compare!”

Shen Shi was even more pleased with herself. She glanced at her son and said in a low voice, “Changgeng, don’t hold it against Mother for pressing you so hard this time. The truth is, you are not getting any younger, and it hardly does for your chambers to be empty. On top of that, there is that child — I have always told you to bring him back, and you never listen! Mother is anxious — it’s all for your own good!”

Xie Changgeng smiled. “Mother’s care for her son is something he well understands.” As he said this, he suddenly crouched down. Eunuch Yang glanced sideways and saw that he was removing a blade of grass that had accidentally caught on the toe of his mother’s shoe. He blew on it and brushed away a bit of dust from the side, then stood and said, “Eunuch Yang, my mother has not seen much of the world. Should she be lacking in proper etiquette before the Empress Dowager, please be understanding and accommodate her a little. When I come to receive her once my affairs are done, I will personally offer apologies to the Empress Dowager on my mother’s behalf.”

Eunuch Yang waved his hands again and again. “The Empress Dowager has long wished to meet the old madam. Today her wish is finally fulfilled — it is a double cause for celebration, and she could not be more pleased. The Prince of Qin worries too much!”

Moments later, hidden eyes passed the scene quietly along to Empress Dowager Liu — Xie Changgeng had stood outside the palace gate, watching his mother being escorted inside amid a flurry of attendants, until she had disappeared from sight, and only then had he departed.

Truly a great paragon of filial piety.

Empress Dowager Liu looked at Shen Shi seated before her — the woman appearing a touch ill at ease in these surroundings — and kept her company in conversation. In her heart, she was both tense and excited in that moment.

Using his mother as the means — he had walked right into the trap.

She was already at a dead end; rather than wait passively for death, it was better to take a desperate gamble. Having made up her mind, speed was essential. Even if he had some suspicions, he would never imagine that the very first day his mother came to the palace to discuss the marriage arrangements would be the day he would die.

Empress Dowager Liu had received word that three years ago, Prince Qi’s men had been one step ahead of her in capturing Shen Shi. When word of her supposed death had circulated, he had even gone to retrieve her body from the Eastern Capital himself.

A son of such filial devotion — if he had any inkling of a trap, he absolutely would not send his own mother into the palace and place her in a position of danger.

Her plan was laid with extraordinary care. Once he was dead, the remaining Zhao Xitai would be nothing to fear. At the very least, he would certainly be far less difficult to deal with than Xie Changgeng.

Empress Dowager Liu’s face was wreathed in smiles. She inquired warmly after Shen Shi’s well-being, then called her own niece out to pay her respects.

Shen Shi knew only that her son had been ennobled as a prince, that he was prospering and rising ever higher — a key figure of the present court, a man favored by the Empress Dowager. She had not the faintest inkling of the immense ambition he concealed, and was entirely unaware of the murderous intent hidden beneath the Empress Dowager’s smiling face at this very moment. She had long wished to take up residence in the capital. Today, that wish had at last been fulfilled — her son had brought her to the city. The Empress Dowager treated her with the deference due to an elder, and her son was about to marry a noble lady of the imperial family. She sat in this magnificent palace, basking in the attentive treatment of all around her, and felt a sense of boundless contentment at having lived to see such a day.

Empress Dowager Liu said with a warm smile, “Though the palace does not have anything particularly extraordinary to offer, there are a few scenic spots worth seeing. Since this is your first time here, old madam, once we have finished discussing the marriage arrangements, I shall personally take you for a stroll.”

Whatever Empress Dowager Liu said, Shen Shi naturally agreed to with enthusiasm. With tears of gratitude in her eyes she said, “That my son could marry a golden branch of the imperial family is the fortune he accumulated in a past life. When he comes to receive me, I’ll have him kowtow to the Empress Dowager several times. From now on, he will be all the more devoted in his service — doing everything he can for the Emperor and the Empress Dowager to repay their kindness!”

In the evening, Xie Changgeng entered the palace to receive his mother, and was told she was in the Qiong Pavilion — please go there to receive her.

The Qiong Pavilion was surrounded on three sides by water, with a single corridor connecting it to the shore. It was like a magnificent great ship floating upon the imperial pool. In this season, cool breezes drifted through it, refreshing to body and spirit.

Eunuch Yang was waiting at the far end of the long corridor that led to the Qiong Pavilion. Catching sight of Xie Changgeng approaching alone from a distance, he hurried forward to meet him, guiding the way and speaking with a smile: “The Empress Dowager discussed the marriage arrangements with the old madam, then accompanied her on a stroll through the imperial garden. With the mood being so fine, they had a few cups of wine here. The Empress Dowager has been with her the whole time, and both are still inside. Please follow me, Prince of Qin.”

From within the Qiong Pavilion at the corridor’s end came the faint sound of Shen Shi’s laughter, carried in on the breeze.

Xie Changgeng walked along the corridor, entered the water pavilion, and saw Empress Dowager Liu and his mother seated side by side at the same table. The table was spread with an array of fine delicacies, and palace maids moved gracefully among them, attending diligently.

Xie Changgeng paid his respects to Empress Dowager Liu, saying he had come to escort his mother out of the palace. Empress Dowager Liu told him to rise with a warm smile.

Shen Shi, flushed and radiant with happiness, said cheerfully, “Changgeng, you are finally here! The marriage arrangements have all been settled. From now on you must redouble your devotion and service, so as not to fail the deep kindness the Empress Dowager has shown you…”

As she spoke, she rose and moved to walk toward her son, when she was suddenly blocked from behind by a eunuch who stepped in her way.

Empress Dowager Liu said, “Old madam, there is no need to rush — sit a while longer. There is no harm in leaving the palace a little later.”

Shen Shi was startled and looked at her son.

Xie Changgeng said, “I would not dare trouble the Empress Dowager any further. Your servant will take his mother out of the palace now.”

Empress Dowager Liu fixed her eyes on him, and the smile on her face gradually vanished. Eunuch Yang had already slipped out, ordering the garden gates closed. Dozens of guards who had been hiding in ambush beneath the water surrounding the pavilion burst out of the water, surging in through the doors and windows, swords, long blades, and spears surrounding them on all sides. In the slanting rays of the setting sun streaming in, they gleamed with a blood-red light.

Shen Shi’s mouth fell slightly open. It was not until that eunuch drew a knife and held it to her throat that she finally understood what was happening. The color drained from her face in an instant, and she cried out for Changgeng to save her.

Xie Changgeng said calmly, “What is the Empress Dowager doing? This is my mother’s first time entering the palace in the capital, and you have prepared such a scene for her.”

Empress Dowager Liu said through gritted teeth, “You treacherous villain! You were nothing but a river brigand and a thief. If I had not promoted and trusted you, would you have the position you have today? Never mind failing to repay that kindness — you even dare to harbor treasonous ambitions of seizing the throne. How could I possibly tolerate this! Your death day has arrived!”

She ordered her men to hold Shen Shi captive and retreat with her, and had arrows loosed at Xie Changgeng immediately.

Shen Shi let out a sharp scream, cried out for the Empress Dowager to spare her life, then rolled her eyes back in her head and fainted on the spot. Dozens of bows had Xie Changgeng surrounded at the center, all arrows nocked at once.

Just then, a burst of commotion erupted from behind — as though thousands of soldiers were pouring into the garden.

“Your Highness! This is terrible!” Eunuch Yang’s trembling voice came as he ran in at a desperate sprint.

“Xie Changgeng’s men have stormed in!”

Empress Dowager Liu’s expression changed, and she immediately shouted in a sharp voice, “Take that rebel alive! Seize him — the reward will be generous…”

Her voice cut off abruptly.

In a corner of the pavilion, a young eunuch of ordinary appearance stepped out soundlessly. He held a dagger in his hand and pressed it against her throat — just as the blade had been pressed against Shen Shi’s — and without any hesitation drew it across. A long, fine line appeared on Empress Dowager Liu’s throat. Blood seeped from the cut, at first only a thin trickle. Then the cut seemed suddenly to become a great gaping mouth that had been forced open wide, and crimson blood gushed out.

Empress Dowager Liu fell to the ground. She stared with wide-open eyes, her mouth making a garbled sound of curses. She struggled to rise, but this futile thrashing only drew more blood flowing from the wound at her throat.

She finally ceased to move and lay in a pool of blood, motionless — except for her mouth, which, like the lips of a fish slowly dying in a dried-out pond, continued to open and close slowly. But the sound it made could no longer be heard.

Empress Dowager Liu — who for more than a decade had wielded power in the name of the child emperor — had today failed in her attempt to kill, and had instead fallen victim to her own scheme, collapsing just like this.

Cao Jin cried out in a loud voice, “Empress Dowager Liu has acted without virtue — she used the Prince of Qin’s mother as a hostage to harm loyal subjects, a deed that outrages both man and god! The Prince of Qin acted in self-defense! Surrender to the Prince of Qin and you will keep your lives! Whoever dares to make a move will face death!”

The mouth of Empress Dowager Liu, which had been opening and closing in futile motion, finally went still. All around fell into a silence like death. Those guards holding their weapons looked at each other. Then, after a moment, led by someone among them — it was unclear who had gone first — they surged forward together, hacking the fleeing Eunuch Yang to death in a frenzy of blades when they saw how badly the situation had turned. They then threw down their weapons. Accompanying the sound of swords and blades hitting the ground, everyone knelt before Xie Changgeng. “We are willing to testify on behalf of the Prince of Qin!”

His forces quickly seized control of the imperial palace. To prevent word from leaking out, Empress Dowager Liu had shared her plan with no one other than those immediately around her — not even her trusted confidants.

Soldiers fierce as wolves and tigers smashed open the sealed gates. Those belonging to Empress Dowager Liu’s faction were captured or killed. The people were thrown into a panic, not knowing what great upheaval had once again erupted in the palace. The ordinary court officials were even more filled with dread, each fearing that the next door to be broken open would be their own.

That night, the capital was placed under a strict curfew. Aside from the light of soldiers carrying torches through the streets to secure the four gates, the entire city was plunged into darkness.

Xie Changgeng left the imperial palace early, leaving that expanse of blood and slaughter behind him.

From the age of fourteen he had tasted the edge of the blade; he had long since lost count of how many plots and massacres more brutal than this he had lived through. By today, such scenes were commonplace, no longer capable of stirring even a trace of superfluous feeling in him. You die or I die — it was that simple, four words.

Night had deepened. On the high gate tower of the capital, he stood in the wind, gazing out at that expanse of night sky — somewhere in the far distance, unknown.

Behind him, this city of nearly a million souls had returned to quiet from its upheaval. Countless people must be lying awake, too anxious to sleep, waiting in trepidation for the light of dawn.

The wish he had long harbored was on the verge of fulfillment. With a single nod from him, at first light he could be borne forward by others, under every grand and high-sounding justification, to take his seat on that throne. He ought to have been immeasurably exhilarated.

But on this night, in this moment, he found that his exhilaration was nothing near as great as he had imagined in his youth. It was not even half as great as the excitement he had felt on that night at the age of nineteen, when, driven by purpose, he had set out alone in a small skiff along a moonlit river through treacherous shallows to seek a marriage alliance with Changsha.

Looking back now, from the age of fourteen until today — thirteen years — all that time, he had in truth been like a man who steps onto a boat. Once aboard, he thought what he ought to think, did what he ought to do, moved steadily toward the fixed destination with a mind undivided. Never wavering.

His heart was in several minds — some measure of reflection, some measure of turmoil.

Below the city tower, Liang Tuan and a few of his personal guards, still riding the lingering waves of their excitement, looked up at that solitary silhouette standing at the highest peak of this city, and waited in silence. After a long while, he seemed suddenly to remember something — he descended the tower, ordered the city gate opened, mounted his horse, and headed outward. They quickly spurred their own horses to follow. After riding a stretch, seeing the direction was toward the western hills, they finally understood — he was going to the Huguo Temple.

The mountain was empty and scrubbed clean by wind. The deep forest was still and hushed. The great mountain gate of the Huguo Temple stood immovable beneath the deep blue night sky, and from a distance it merged with the peaks behind it as one, as though it had existed thus since Pangu had first separated heaven and earth.

Xie Changgeng ordered his men to wait below the mountain, then ascended the steps alone. He knocked at the monastery gate, and to the monk who opened it, he stated his name and asked for the Elder Huiji. When the words left his lips, he suddenly felt the intrusion of it — coming on such impulse at this deep hour of the night to trouble the elder.

He said, “If it is inconvenient for the Elder, I shall wait here at the mountain gate until dawn, then come to call on him.”

The monk looked at him for a moment, then pressed his palms together and invited him inside.

All was silent around him, save for the sound of his own footsteps and, from some unseen corner, the faint, faraway sounds of night practice — wooden fish and the murmuring of sutras. Xie Changgeng made his way through the Buddhist courtyards in the deep of night. When he came to the pagoda grove on the rear mountain and looked at the silent, shadowed shapes of the pagodas standing in the dark, a hazy, disoriented feeling came over him — a sudden sense in his heart that all of this was somehow familiar.

As though long ago, on just such a night, he had wandered through this same pagoda grove. But very quickly he dismissed the thought.

This was the first time he had come to the rear-mountain pagoda grove of the Huguo Temple — on this night, so singularly extraordinary, when his emotions were immeasurably complex.

He was led to a meditation courtyard at the far end of the pagoda grove. The monk pressed his palms together in salute and withdrew.

It was a plain and simple square courtyard, standing quietly before him. He paused outside the gate for a moment, then stepped inside.

He saw that a lamp burning vegetable oil had been lit inside the room. An aged monk sat cross-legged on a meditation dais. He stepped forward respectfully, apologized for coming unannounced at this late hour, and said, “Xi’er entrusted me to come and convey his greetings to the Elder.”

When he had finished speaking and saw that the old monk gave no reaction — remaining motionless in seated meditation, eyes closed — he hesitated for a moment, and at last asked the thing that had been pressing at the bottom of his heart for three years past, something he had never fully put from his mind.

“Elder, this child — what is his true relationship to the woman who took him away from you all those years ago?”

“She once told me that the child was simply someone she had happened to meet by chance and, feeling a bond with him, had asked the Elder for permission to raise him by her side. Yet I have always felt that she was concealing something from me. It has always been this way with her — no matter what the matter, she never speaks to me plainly and openly!”

He paused, then added, entirely unaware of the faint thread of resentment in his own tone.

The Elder remained silent, as though in deep meditation.

Xie Changgeng, having spoken his piece, suddenly realized he had said too many words. Yet in the moment of saying them, he felt as though something in his chest had been somewhat released.

Perhaps tonight, coming here, he had originally only wanted to find someone he could talk to — someone to whom he could say a few words. He had not truly expected this old monk to resolve his doubts, or to respond.

In truth, he did not need any response at all.

He simply sat down — on the other side of the old monk.

“Elder, that woman is unreasonable to a laughable degree. Do you know — three years ago, I chased her all the way to Jun Mountain. I could find no ferry, so I braved the risk of drowning, of becoming a water ghost in Dongting, and swam across that very night. I wanted to ask her to have a change of heart and come back to me. Elder, do you know how she responded? She actually demanded that I choose between the realm and herself!”

He said, “How could there be such a woman in this world! She truly believes herself to be a goddess descended from the ninth heaven! Even a goddess, I suspect, would not dare speak to someone with such an air.”

The lamp oil burned slowly dry, and the flame went out. The meditation room fell into dimness.

“What right has she to treat me this way — what right… The things she said to me, I don’t believe a single word of them. She simply wanted to drive me away… She truly is coldhearted… How can there be such a coldhearted woman in this world…”

In the darkness, Xie Changgeng continued to speak in a rambling voice to the old monk sitting across from him. Gradually, from the initial tone of indignation and mockery, his voice shifted to despondency. Finally, he seemed to grow weary. After a long silence, he let out a soft laugh: “Elder, tonight I have accomplished a great matter. I have achieved what I longed for. I am exceedingly satisfied. From this day forward, for the sake of that child, I will not go out of my way to make things difficult for her. But I, Xie Changgeng, will not spare her another glance! Let the Elder bear witness for me — if I fail to keep this vow, then I will…”

He stopped. He lay back in that dim meditation room.

He could not recall the last time he had spoken so many words in a single breath. He suddenly felt both foolish and exhausted.

He slowly closed his eyes. Just as sleep was about to take him, he seemed to see the lamp burning vegetable oil in the corner of the room — which had already gone out — slowly reignite.

He opened his eyes and found that he was standing by the riverside beneath the moon, looking at a scene that felt hauntingly familiar. On the river shoals, murky waves rolled and surged. In the distance, a dark skiff sailed through the night toward Dongting. He had initially thought it was the group of people he had once seen from afar that night, but as it drew nearer, he saw clearly — the young man standing at the prow, dressed in blue, was himself at nineteen years old.

Xie Changgeng was astonished. He rushed after the boat, calling out to the young man, but the young man seemed to have fallen into some kind of reverie, completely unaware. He did not even turn his head, and went on, riding the waves away.

The young man had harbored ambitions when he went to seek that marriage alliance and had gotten what he wanted. After the wedding, it was more than half a year before he finally returned home and was at last able to see the face of the Changsha princess he had taken as his wife. Not only was she exceptionally beautiful, but her figure was also to his liking. After they consummated the marriage that night, he was very fond of her. When he heard her say shyly that they had met before, long ago, beneath the ancient cypress on Jun Mountain — that he had once helped her rescue a little bird that had fallen from the cliff — he finally recalled it, though only with a vague sort of recognition. He smiled and thought nothing more of it, assuming it was simply a charming little fancy of a young woman.

A few days later, he had to leave again. His mother wanted him to take Qi Lingfeng as a concubine. He was somewhat reluctant to raise the matter so soon, but he raised it anyway — thinking that if she was willing, all the better; if not, he would find some other way to put his mother off for the time being.

She agreed. He was a little surprised, and was touched by her thoughtfulness, and so he took Qi Shi as his concubine. He knew she did not find favor with his mother and had suffered grievances on account of this, yet she had never once come to him to complain. He felt increasing tenderness and affection for her. In those years, except when dealing with his mother’s pressing questions, he had barely spent time with Qi Lingfeng.

Later she gave birth to Xi’er. They continued to spend more time apart than together. Each time he came home in haste, he would have to leave again after only a few days. When he left, he could tell how much she and the child missed him. But his steps could not stop. He thought he would make it up to them later.

Before that making-up could come, she was gone.

Because of a sudden and unexpected incident, he had rushed his plans. When he was moving her and the child to safety, they were seized by Prince Qi’s men. Prince Qi demanded that he surrender an important city in exchange; he could not agree. He captured Prince Qi’s only son and tried to use him as a bargaining chip — only to discover that Prince Qi had another son being raised elsewhere, unknown to the world. The matter dragged on. At the time, he was fighting on another front and was held down by that campaign. Later, Zhao Xitai fell ill and died — an unexpected turn. He had to rescue her and the child without further delay, and decided to storm Pucheng directly. He made contact with Yuan Handing, who had also been trying to save her all along, and arranged for him to work in concert with a spy inside the city — someone bribed by Cao Jin — from within and without. He himself marshaled his forces to attack Pucheng. But the rescue went wrong. Pursuit forces closed in. To avoid becoming a burden to him, she sent her child away and then took her own life.

Her body was hung on the city wall by his enemies for three days, before the city fell and she could at last be laid to rest. He had not been able to bring himself to look closely at her face, even then. In his heart he understood clearly: in the time while she was still alive, had he devoted just a little more care to her — had his preparations for the assault on Pucheng been less rushed — perhaps the outcome would have been entirely different.

After he became emperor, knowing she must have hated him bitterly for failing her when she needed him most, it was only then that he came to understand — he, Xie Changgeng, was in truth a cowardly man. He had great memorial halls and pagodas built in her honor, her funeral rites conducted with the utmost solemnity and glory, but he could never bring himself to enter her spirit hall and face her directly. Several times he had lingered outside, and in the end had always turned away. He was not only cowardly — he was a man of supreme hypocrisy. None of it was more than an attempt to purchase inner peace, deceiving no one but himself.

After their child was returned to him, the boy fell silent and lost the ability to speak. He believed he loved his eldest son. He had other sons later, but his eldest — the son left to him by his first wife — remained the one he loved most.

He knew the child also hated him, just as his mother had. In the early years he had made attempts to repair their relationship, but the boy seemed unwilling to give him the chance. He had too much to attend to, and could not bring himself to face those eyes that so resembled hers. So one year became the next, and it went on like that. He comforted himself that someday — someday — he would certainly make proper amends to this child. He had never imagined that because of the matter involving Qi Shi, such a catastrophic outcome would result.

He had only learned the truth several years before. At the time his rage was extreme, but by then his mother had already suffered a stroke. Her mind was somewhat muddled, and she recognized no one — only Qi Shi. She needed to see her every single day. It was a matter of only a few more years at most. After much deliberation, he ultimately did not move to take her life right away.

He knew his eldest son hated him. But what he had never in the slightest imagined was this: that over these ten years, his silent, composed Xi’er had grown to hate him to such a degree that he had cut his own throat before his eyes, declaring he would no longer be his son.

In that moment, in that dim and dark spirit hall, holding that young man dressed in white as his warmth faded — the depth of his remorse and anguish was beyond expression.

And it was in that moment, too, that he saw himself clearly at last — truly, what kind of person he had been.

In his subordinates’ eyes, he was a wise superior. In the words of the people, he was an enlightened ruler. In the praise of moral scholars, the emperor who practiced filial piety in his own conduct was a paragon worthy of emulation by all. She was the only woman he had ever truly been fond of in his life. But from the very first day he married her, the darkest parts of his nature — his hypocrisy, his callousness, his selfishness, his cowardice, his heartlessness — had been visited upon her in full, without exception.

He had felt deep and genuine remorse. But it was already too late.

And the lacerating pain in his chest had, in truth, only just begun.

After that, he never again summoned any woman from the harem. Several years passed, and he was past forty — still in what should have been the prime of his years — yet the grinding demands of state affairs, compounded by the torment of old wounds, began to wear down his body. While his health deteriorated, his remaining two sons fought over the succession, conspiring to seize the throne by force and compel his abdication. In the end, one died and the other was deposed. He crushed the factions that had backed them, and in the aftermath of blood and fire, named a nephew as crown prince.

As he lay dying in solitude, he looked back on his life and felt as though he had obtained everything, yet in the end had left behind nothing at all. In those days he often thought of his first wife, who had died young in the bloom of her life. He thought of her brilliant smile when they first met beneath the ancient cypress on Jun Mountain. He thought of their child — who as a small boy had clung to his legs and refused to let go when he had to leave, holding back his tears and not daring to cry aloud, yet who, despite hating him so deeply in the end, had done nothing more than sever the bond between father and son by cutting off his own hair, and had let him live.

Xie Changgeng, the founding emperor of the Da Yuan dynasty, spent the last days of his life in the Huguo Temple — in the memorial hall he had once built there for his first empress.

It was said that when he passed away, held in his hand was a leaf from the thousand-year-old cypress of distant Jun Mountain. His dying words were that the spirit of the Empress, who had passed from this world in her early years, was not to be disturbed, and that he and the Empress were to be buried in separate tombs, with this cypress leaf to accompany his own burial. The new emperor and the court did not understand this final instruction, but all complied without exception. Only a very small number of people who knew something of the old story suspected that the emperor had perhaps feared that the Empress still harbored undying resentment toward him, and that this was why he had not dared to share a burial chamber with her. Later there were also rumors that on the eve of his death, the emperor had summoned the high monks of the Huguo Temple to perform rites on his behalf, wishing that if there were a next life, he would be willing to pay any price for the chance to be reunited with the Empress and make amends for the wrongs he had done her in this life. The official historical records would naturally not include such groundless talk. But the unofficial histories and popular chronicles found it endlessly captivating, marveling that even a founding emperor — fierce and resolute, steeped in blood — was born a romantic soul at heart, and what a pity it was that fate had kept him and his Empress so close yet so far apart.

“Dawn has come — will this visitor not wake!” A voice suddenly reached his ears.

Xie Changgeng’s eyes snapped open. He discovered with a start that daylight had already arrived beyond the window. He met the eyes of the old monk across from him, who was watching him. His entire being felt as though it was still submerged in the extreme agony — the double torment of body and soul — of those moments just before death.

His face was drained of color, his whole body drenched in cold sweat. He stared fixedly at the old monk opposite him, his consciousness still not fully returned to himself. After a long moment, he seemed at last to understand something. His voice trembling, he said, “Elder — what were all of those…”

The Elder stepped down from the position where he had sat in meditation through the night. He smiled. “The heart dreams of what the mind dwells upon by day. You came seeking an answer — this was the answering.” With that, he walked out of the meditation room.

Xie Changgeng was struck as though by five thunderbolts and stood frozen.

He understood at last. She had come from that other place — that other existence where there had been him, and her, and their child. Those events, that remorse he had felt, that lacerating anguish — in her, they were an open wound, raw and bleeding, that had persisted to this very day.

All that had come to pass swept before his eyes once more.

He had lived through the entire life of another man who bore the same name as himself — a man who was not him, and yet unmistakably, truly, was himself. It had been another life he might have lived. As those moments flashed one by one before him, he thought again of this life — of his first meeting with her on Jun Mountain, of how she had later left without a word and kept him at arm’s length, of her aversion to that Qingyun sword, of her hesitation and withdrawal during their moments of closeness, of the abyss-like despair in her eyes when Xi’er had gone missing and she had turned a blade on him, of that final meeting on Jun Mountain three years ago, and of what she had said to him then…

Xie Changgeng’s eyes turned crimson. He suddenly felt a stifling pain in his chest, and tasted sweetness and iron in his throat.

He slowly swallowed down that mouthful of blood that had risen to his throat. His body curled rigid, his complexion pale as death, utterly motionless.