Early the next morning, before the sky had even fully lightened, a sealed decree from the Empress-Regent was sent out of the Upper Capital and dispatched to Hexi, relay after relay, without stopping.

Mu Fulan required Liang Tuan to do two things. First, make immediate arrangements for the Crown Prince’s return to the capital. Second, while ensuring the news would not leak, deploy every available resource and continue searching for the Emperor’s whereabouts.

Liang Tuan received the decree, summoned his trusted men, and set the arrangements in motion.

Three months later, he returned to the capital in secrecy, and Mu Fulan received him in the private hall of Ziwei Palace.

Over those three months, he had already searched every conceivable location in the surrounding area.

“I also dispatched men to search underwater many times, but the undercurrents at the bottom are treacherous, and the lake is very deep. I have failed in my ability, and failed to fulfill the Empress’s charge…”

His voice grew choked, to the point that he could not finish the sentence. He fell prostrate upon the ground.

Mu Fulan did not move, lost in thought for a long while, and then said: “General Liang, you have endured much hardship these past months. You still have important duties to carry out — go and rest first.”

Night fell. Dawn came again. Mu Fulan sat alone, passing from dusk into deep night, from deep night into dawn.

“Empress, Lord Liu and the others have arrived. They are waiting outside the palace and request to see you.”

When the wan light of early morning gradually began to color the south-facing window of the private hall, from beyond the chamber door came the faint, careful sound of a palace attendant’s announcement.

As though being pulled out from a vast dark maw that had completely engulfed her, she shuddered and slowly opened her eyes. Pressing one hand to the table for support, she steadied herself and finally stood.

She would not give up. She always felt that a man like him — how could he simply be gone like this? She had recalled Liang Tuan, but she would continue sending others to search. Until she saw his body with her own eyes, she would not stop looking.

Yet in the depths of her heart, another voice kept reminding her, without cease: that man was only a mortal being of flesh and blood. He was gone. He was truly gone.

In the months during which the Emperor had been unable to appear, she had secretly kept the Upper Capital tightly under control, and had told the anxious ministers that His Majesty had suffered a recurrence of an old wound sustained during the campaign, and that the jolting of a carriage was not advisable — which was why he had remained in Hexi to recuperate.

Such an explanation could only pacify everyone for a time. It could not hold indefinitely. To continue concealing it by force would only invite more suspicion and doubt. Once it could no longer be suppressed, instability would inevitably follow — nothing but harm and not a shred of benefit.

As Mu Fulan the person, she could tell herself he was still alive.

But as the one who held the realm in regency, she was compelled to face reality.

Her steps at first felt weightless, as though she were walking on clouds — but very quickly they grew firm.

When she walked out of the private hall, opened the doors, and appeared before the attendants in the pale light of early dawn, she seemed, apart from the bloodshot rims of her eyes and a certain pallor in her complexion, no different from any other day.

She slowly named several ministers and said: “Have them go to the Imperial Study.”

The ministers were escorted by palace attendants into the Imperial Study, where they found the Empress already within, eyes lowered, sitting composedly in a side seat behind the imperial desk.

After the formalities of greeting, Liu Guan inquired after the Emperor’s condition. He said: “All the civil and military officials, and all within and beyond the Upper Capital, have been eagerly awaiting His Majesty’s triumphant return. His Majesty’s injuries are a matter of deepest concern to all. I make bold to ask permission to travel to Hexi myself to visit His Majesty — I hope the Empress will allow it.”

Mu Fulan raised her eyes, and slowly pushed to the corner of the desk the sealed letter she had received several months before.

The several men exchanged glances, then stepped forward with a bow to take it. They had barely looked at it for a moment when they froze. A moment later, amid a chorus of “Your Majesty” and the thudding sound of knees striking the ground, one after another they fell to their knees — some kowtowing repeatedly, some prostrating themselves in tears.

“Empress… is this… confirmed?” Liu Guan asked, his voice trembling.

Mu Fulan said: “Liang Tuan returned to the capital last night. You may seek the full details from him.”

Liang Tuan was brought in. She rose and passed by the ministers who had gathered around Liang Tuan, walked out, and stood on the palace steps outside. A moment later, the sound of hurrying footsteps came from behind her.

She turned slowly, letting her gaze pass one by one over the grief-stricken faces of the civil and military officials who had rushed out and knelt behind her.

She said: “His Majesty has unfortunately passed. The Crown Prince has not yet come of age. I am merely a woman. The dynasty was newly founded not long ago and its foundations are yet shallow. You gentlemen helped His Majesty build this realm through great labor and distinguished service. You may recommend among yourselves the most capable — the Crown Prince can yield the throne to the worthy, and I will not object.”

She stood steadily, her voice calm.

Several of the men, their faces streaked with tears, were overcome with terror.

Liu Guan said: “His Majesty’s grace to us is as deep as a mountain. Even ten thousand deaths could not repay a ten-thousandth of His Majesty’s kindness. Should the Empress entertain such thoughts again, I could only give my life to demonstrate my loyalty!”

Another minister wept: “On the eve before His Majesty established the Crown Prince, his words of instruction still ring in my ears. How could I harbor even the slightest wayward thought? I am willing to pledge my life in loyalty to the Crown Prince — I beg the Empress to see clearly!”

The remaining men too kowtowed desperately, their foreheads striking the ground with loud, steady thuds.

Mu Fulan was silent for a moment, then turned her face to look at the Crown Prince, who had walked out. He stepped forward and personally helped the ministers to their feet, one by one.

“Mother says that as long as Great Cheng stands united above and below, working in concert with one another, no matter what difficulties arise, they can be safely passed through. I believe this without question. From this day forward, our Great Cheng must rely upon you, gentlemen — I offer you my bow of gratitude.”

He finished speaking, then bowed solemnly and respectfully to Liu Guan and the others.

The ministers hurriedly knelt again, pledging their loyalty and devotion to this young boy.

That night, the lanterns in the Imperial Study burned through until dawn. Liu Guan and the others gathered there, and after repeated deliberation and careful consideration, decided to continue concealing the tragedy under the pretense that the Emperor was still recovering from illness, and to do so until they had fully stabilized the situation — at which point the news would be announced, a state funeral held, and the Crown Prince formally enthroned as the new Emperor.

Mu Fulan sat quietly in a corner of the Imperial Study, her gaze drifting as she watched the young boy and his ministers at their deliberations.

When it was nearly dawn and the discussions had concluded and the ministers had withdrawn, he walked over to Mu Fulan’s side and carefully helped her to her feet.

“Mother, you are tired. Let your son walk you back to your palace to rest.”

Mu Fulan walked out of that place and, accompanied by her son, moved along the dim palace corridors, guided by the swaying light of a lantern held in an attendant’s hand, back to Ziwei Palace.

The young boy moved to escort her inside.

She stopped walking and said: “You should also go and rest. You did not sleep all night.”

The young boy looked at her and lingered, reluctant to go.

Mu Fulan smiled at him gently: “Don’t overthink things. Mother is fine. Go on — get some rest. You need not worry about me.”

The young boy slowly lowered his gaze, then suddenly dropped to his knees before her, bowed his head deeply to the ground, and rose — looking back at her again and again — and left.

Mu Fulan watched his retreating figure until it disappeared, and then her shoulders slowly caved.

She did not know how she had gotten through the days and nights of the past few months. Looking back now, it seemed she remembered only darkness giving way to light, daylight and night endlessly alternating — chaotic, exhausting, wearing her down to nothing.

She fell into bed and slept — a deep, heavy, disorienting sleep. She did not know how long she slept or when it was when she woke, but through the haze she seemed to hear a song. The song came and went, as though drifting from some dark and distant corner far away, yet as though echoing right at her ear — faint and unbroken, like thread drawn from silk.

At last, she heard it clearly.

“Without the Cold-Repelling Gold, how to win an emperor’s heart…”

“Without the Cold-Repelling Hairpin, how to win an emperor’s love…”

Her eyelashes trembled, and she slowly opened her eyes and woke. In the haze between sleep and waking, she finally remembered — many years ago, when she was still small and living in this very palace, on the night her aunt was near death, she had also seemed to faintly hear this otherworldly song drifting from the corner of the hall.

She opened her eyes wide and strained her senses in the darkness, wanting to hear it more clearly — but the song that had come with her dream broke off abruptly.

At her ear, there was only a vast and utter silence.

She slowly closed her eyes, and tears began to fall unbidden. She began to weep without a sound, her face flooded with tears.

No longer did she need to fret, day after day, as his return drew nearer and nearer, agonizing over how to answer that man when he raised the question again — all that indecision that had nearly torn her apart.

When she herself could not make up her mind, Heaven had made the decision for her.

Let it end like this. Past life, this life. Right, or wrong. Love, or no love. All of it was gone. In memory, what remained was the shadow of a figure riding away on horseback beneath the moon at the Western Pass. Or — if even that shadow could, in time, be entirely and completely forgotten, that would be even better.

In her previous life, she had hoped that man would keep her at the center of his heart.

In this life, she had hoped he would disappear from before her eyes, never to be seen again.

Heaven had shown her such great kindness — and in such a manner, the wishes of two lifetimes had both been fulfilled at once.

She could no longer hold herself back. In the boundless dark night that swallowed her like a sea, she gasped and choked, her whole body shaking without cease, weeping in a way that was entirely beyond her control.