Epigraph —

The capital is full of official carriages and fine hats — and yet this one man grows thin and haggard. A name that will endure a thousand autumns — is in the end a lonely thing, born after death.

The vast grassland was strewn with yellow grass flattened underfoot and bodies piled like mountains.

Broken banners. Shattered swords. Blood-soaked armor. Scattered across the earth everywhere.

Here and there, the sorrowful cry of a war horse.

The dying sun hung like a blood-red wheel at an angle in the sky, casting its crimson light upon heaven and earth alike, until all was drenched in that deep red — and one could not tell whether it was the evening glow that had stained the grassland, or the blood of the fallen that had colored the sky.

“The Mengcheng Grassland will from this day forward be the horse pasture of the Huang Dynasty!”

In the limitless expanse, a single rider stood motionless as a mountain.

Gazing across the vast and boundless wilderness. Looking down at the land conquered beneath his feet. And feeling, strangely, not the boiling excitement of hot blood.

He raised his face. The evening clouds blazed like brocade.

Annexing the five-ten-thousand-li expanse of Mengcheng Kingdom’s great grassland as one’s own horse pasture.

Such arrogant words — he had a vague sense that someone had spoken them to him once before. Yet he could no longer remember who, and no longer wished to try.

Up in the nine heavens above — was there anything there but clouds and the setting sun?

“Congratulations, Your Majesty!” someone said reverently from behind.

“Xue Kong — do you too think that I am, as the world says, ‘a man consumed by the love of war’?” The sovereign in his purple armor asked calmly, bathed in that crimson light.

The snow-haired, snow-faced general considered for a moment, then said: “Your Majesty acts for the sake of an enduring legacy.”

“An enduring legacy?” A faint, somewhat noncommittal tone.

The wind swept past, carrying with it the raw, sharp smell of blood.

“A thousand years from now — who will even know my dynasty?” It might have been a question to another, or a question to himself.

“The majestic rivers and mountains of the Huang Dynasty will record Your Majesty’s great achievements for all time! The fearless iron cavalry of the Huang Dynasty will pass down for ten thousand generations the glory of Your Majesty’s unmatched military power!” The general behind him spoke with sincerity.

In his heart, his Emperor was the greatest sovereign of a thousand generations.

“Unmatched?” A faint, dismissive sound. Without regard.

He looked out to the horizon — boundless territory, limitless domain.

The sovereign of all under heaven. Every last person beneath him in submission.

Between heaven and earth, in this moment, he alone was master of all.

And yet in this moment there was boundless, absolute emptiness — and solitude.

“Xue Kong.” He gave a long, quiet sigh. “To be without equal is no blessing.”

He raised the whip and struck the horse’s flank. All of heaven and earth to gallop through as he pleased.

And yet… Nandan had submitted. Wushe had been erased from the pages of history. Caifei had prostrated its entire kingdom before him. And now this Mengcheng Kingdom, renowned for its ferocity — it too had been crushed beneath his feet.

After all these years — there was not one… not even a single rival nation left.

All these years, ranging across this vast world from east to west, from south to north — he had only ever been looking for one thing. An opponent. One who was a true match for him, one he could fight to the fullest.

An equal in strength.

An opponent who could ignite his will to fight.

An opponent who could make his blood run hot.

A soul that was his match.

To draw his sword and rise, and find someone standing before him.

Not this — not this sweep of the eye in every direction, this silent sky… and the boundless territory beneath his feet, and ten thousand subjects.

Who could have imagined that after the Battle of Dongdan, there would never be another?

At the highest and most supreme place — there is no one who can stand at his side.

He draws his sword and looks in all four directions. Only his shadow follows.

The highest peak is the coldest. The most supreme is the most solitary.

“Xue Kong — to be without equal is no blessing.” He said it again, quiet and long.

This lonely, wistful sentence stayed with the Grand General of the Huang Dynasty, Xiao Xue Kong, for the rest of his life — as a thing to be remembered, and a thing to be feared.

While that long sigh was still echoing across the grassland, the Emperor Chaoxi toppled from his horse.

“Your Majesty!” Xiao Xue Kong was stricken with alarm.

“Your Majesty!” From the distance, the shouts of ministers and generals rang out as people ran toward him.

“Quickly — send for Lady Xiao!” someone called in urgency.

The Imperial Records, Annals of Emperor Chaoxi, state: In the eighth year of Xize, the Emperor campaigned against Mengcheng and won a great victory. His chronic illness flared. By great fortune, the wife of Grand General Xiao Jian was skilled in medicine and accompanied the army. She saved the Emperor from peril.

In the eighth year of Xize, in the autumn, the great armies of the Huang Dynasty returned victorious from Mengcheng. Even as the people of the dynasty rejoiced, they were more deeply worried about the condition of His Majesty. Though this Emperor had something of a fondness for war, it had in no way diminished the people’s love for him. They would never forget who had ended the suffering of the age of chaos and founded this strong and peaceful new world.

“Pinyu — how is His Majesty?”

“Lady Xiao — how does His Majesty fare?”

Jun Pinyu had barely stepped out of the palace gate before she was surrounded on all sides by those who had been waiting outside. She looked up. The Prince of Hui, the Prince of Xin, the Prince of Yun, Qiu Jiushuang, the six generals of the Huang Dynasty, and her husband Xiao Xue Kong — every one of them was staring at her, their eyes filled with carefully concealed anxiety and hope. Faced with so many such gazes, even Jun Pinyu — who had long since made her peace with the sight of life and death — could only lower her head in silence.

“Can it be that elder brother—” The Prince of Yun, Huang Yu, saw Jun Pinyu’s expression and was immediately thrown into alarm. “You — you — are you not the Living Bodhisattva?! You must — quickly cure my elder brother!” Huang Yu shot his hand out and seized Jun Pinyu’s wrist in a desperate grip, his manner making plain he would accept nothing less than his brother’s full recovery.

“Hiss—” Jun Pinyu drew a sharp breath of pain.

“Huang Yu, you’re hurting her!” Qiu Jiushuang, who was standing closest, smacked her husband’s hand away — then immediately seized it herself. “Pinyu — His Majesty… is he all right?” The former Cold Frost General, always so boldly spirited, showed a fragile, half-hoping, half-self-deceiving look in her eyes now as she gazed at Jun Pinyu, willing her to give the answer she most wanted to hear.

Jun Pinyu opened her mouth. No words came. She had pronounced the fate of countless patients over the years, yet in this moment her chest was constricted with pain and she could not bring the words to her lips.

A pair of slightly cool hands reached through the crowd and folded around hers — and the spirit that had been wound so tight within her gave slightly.

“Pinyu.” Xiao Xue Kong felt his wife’s hand, cold to the bone, and his heart went still. The blue-deep color of his ice eyes deepened still further. He could not speak.

“Say something!” everyone urged at once.

Jun Pinyu gripped her husband’s hand tightly. She breathed in slowly, raised her face, and looked toward the setting sun in the west. Slowly, she said: “The sun… is setting…”

Thud. Huang Yu fell straight back onto the ground, but he did not seem to feel it. His jaw was clenched, his eyes fixed on her with a hatred as though she were his enemy.

Qiu Jiushuang stared at her blankly, as though she had not understood what was said.

The Prince of Hui and the Prince of Xin felt their legs give out and sank back against the wall, and still could not stop their bodies from trembling.

The six generals went chalk-white.

In front of the palace gate, all fell silent as the grave.

The sun rose again.

Inside and outside the imperial palace, the silence lay heavy as night.

“Your Majesty — it is time to take your medicine.”

The palace maids on either side drew apart the apricot-yellow bed curtains. Hua Chunran ladled a spoonful of medicine, tested its temperature, and held it to Huang Chao’s lips.

Huang Chao turned his head slightly to avoid it, then glanced at Hua Chunran and in the end accepted the spoon, swallowed it, then reached out and took the medicine bowl himself, drinking the rest of it down in one long drink.

Hua Chunran took the bowl and passed him water to rinse his mouth. A palace maid beside her held a basin to receive it.

“All of you may go.” Huang Chao said.

“Yes.” The attendants withdrew, and the room was left with only the two of them.

“Does Your Majesty have something to say?” Hua Chunran settled on the edge of the bed and looked at her husband — the Emperor of the realm.

The man who had swept all before him, revered by his subjects and dreaded by rival kingdoms, the supreme ruler of an age — even now, with his illness so grave, those golden eyes were as sharp as ever, their light flickering with an undiminished imperious dignity.

“How long have the Empress and I been married?” Huang Chao looked at the woman before him, still of breathtaking beauty.

“Ten years, Your Majesty.” Hua Chunran smiled slightly, curious that he would ask this.

“Ten years already.” Huang Chao’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though recalling something, and the faintest trace of a smile touched his lips. “The Empress has not changed at all. It makes your husband feel as though he only just yesterday took the most beautiful woman under heaven as his wife.”

“Your Majesty teases me.” Hua Chunran’s lovely eyes glanced at him with their usual gentle allure.

“Marrying you was your husband’s great fortune.” Huang Chao reached out and took that bare, unadorned hand resting on the bedside. “And yet I have wronged you in doing so.”

“For me to have married Your Majesty was a blessing carried over from a previous life.” Hua Chunran looked at him with quiet surprise and a quiet happiness — in all these years, he had never spoken words this tender, never made a gesture this gentle.

Huang Chao shook his head. “Your husband knows. Over these years, we have spent so little time together. I have truly not done right by you.”

“Your Majesty has been serving the nation — I understand completely. Why would Your Majesty say such a thing?” Hua Chunran closed both of her hands around his.

“My days are numbered. If I do not say this now, I will not have another chance.” Huang Chao said it without inflection.

“No!” Hua Chunran reflexively tightened her grip on his hand. “Your Majesty has ten thousand years before you — I will not hear you speak like this.”

“Ten thousand years — that is just something people say to flatter. No one actually believes it.” Huang Chao gave a slight laugh. “I may be ill, but my mind has never been unclear.”

“Your Majesty…” Hua Chunran felt her heart ache, and found nothing to say.

Huang Chao raised his hand to indicate she should not say more.

“Empress — your husband has already issued a decree. The entire Hua clan is to be relocated to Duncheng in Bai Prefecture.”

Bai Prefecture, Duncheng — in the far north, a desolate and barren place.

“I am already aware.” Hua Chunran lowered her head.

“Does the Empress have any doubt?” Huang Chao looked at her bowed head.

“I know that it is because Your Majesty cherishes me.” Hua Chunran raised her face. Her smile carried a faint bitterness. The imperial family’s tenderness and solicitude were always woven through with caution and distance.

“You understand this, and yet you cannot fully conceal the hurt.” Huang Chao looked at her with clear-eyed understanding.

“Your subject-wife would not dare.” Hua Chunran lowered her eyes.

“Would not dare?” Huang Chao smiled. “And yet the hurt is there.”

“Your Majesty…” Hua Chunran was a little anxious.

Huang Chao raised his hand. His brilliant golden eyes held a clarity like candlelight in the dark. “Your husband does not blame you.” Seeing her exhale, he felt a quiet sadness. “Chunran — if you were an ordinary woman, your husband would have no need of this, and the Hua clan would not be made to endure this hardship. But you are too clever…”

“Your Majesty…” In ten years of marriage, this was the first time he had ever called her by her given name. And it came at a moment like this. Every bittersweet and difficult feeling swirled through Hua Chunran at once.

“Since you are this clever, you can truly understand your husband’s intention.” Huang Chao’s expression became grave, and his voice took on a note of quiet severity.

“I truly do understand. Your Majesty acts out of a heart of protection — you do not wish for me, nor for the Hua clan, to have any chance of making a grave error.” Hua Chunran looked at Huang Chao with clear, steady eyes. “There is not one particle of resentment in my heart. I hold your grace in deepest gratitude.”

“Good, if you understand.” Huang Chao closed his eyes. “When the Crown Prince is grown, they will naturally be summoned back, and at that time… everything will take care of itself…”

“Your Majesty — rest a while.” Hua Chunran saw his expression grow weary and rose to help him lie down, when a warmth on her face made her pause.

“Chunran — you are still so young, so beautiful…” Huang Chao opened his eyes. He stroked this face — this incomparably beautiful face that had captivated the finest men in all the realm — with a tenderness filled with sorrow. “And yet your husband is leaving you behind. I truly am sorry.”

“Your Majesty.” Hua Chunran’s eyes went hot, and the tears she had been holding back finally fell.

“Don’t cry.” Huang Chao drew his wife into his arms. “The three children will all be in your hands after I am gone. It will be very hard. But Chunran is so clever and capable — your husband has no worry on that account.”

“Your Majesty!” Hua Chunran buried her face in his shoulder and wept without restraint. All the fear and anxiety of these days, all the exhaustion and sorrow — in this moment they were at last given comfort, and everything came pouring out at once.

In all these years, this was the first time she had wept like this against his shoulder.

In all these years, this was the first time he had been so tender toward her.

In all these years, this was the first time they had held each other so close as husband and wife.

All these years — and why only now, in this final moment…

“After your husband is gone, the government of the realm will be in the hands of Huang Yu and the others. They will support the Crown Prince well.” Huang Chao stroked his wife’s hair with gentle warmth. “Your husband has said that Chunran is a clever woman. They will respect you and listen to your counsel. The Crown Prince is the pillar of the nation — Chunran must guide his upbringing with great care.”

“Your Majesty… I understand… Your Majesty… I will…” Hua Chunran choked out the words.

Huang Chao raised her face and dried the tears from her cheeks.

Ten years — the years passed like a turning lantern in his mind. Those limited hours together, all the small and never-noticed moments, were vivid now. His fingers rested on that beautiful face. Beneath it was that quick and brilliant heart — rarer than the beauty itself. Such a good woman. In certain ways, over these years, he had fallen somewhat short of what she deserved. And in the years ahead, the long passage of time — her young and beautiful life would be spent, inevitably, within the walls of this deep palace.

“Chunran.” Huang Chao called her name softly.

“Yes.” Hua Chunran looked at him with steady, clear eyes.

“In this life — your husband has reigned over all under heaven. You have been the mother of the realm. Both our names will endure in the records for ten thousand years. For you and for me, one might say we have achieved what we wished for, with nothing left undone.” The sharp light in Huang Chao’s golden eyes softened and began to grow distant. “Achieved our wishes, nothing left undone… and yet, in the end, there is something that did not fully satisfy — is there not?”

Hua Chunran felt her heart tighten at these words, and only gave a quiet reply: “Your Majesty.”

“Chunran — let us go to White Lake.” A faint flash in those golden eyes, and then they slowly closed. “Let us go to White Lake…”

Hua Chunran drew the unconscious Huang Chao into her arms, her hand resting gently on his gaunt face, and she said with tender softness: “Yes — I will go with you to White Lake.”

A single tear fell and landed on Huang Chao’s closed eyes.

In the end, there is something that did not fully satisfy?

The eighth month of the eighth year of Xize.

Emperor Chaoxi’s chronic illness had flared. The Empress accompanied him to the traveling palace in Nan Prefecture to rest and recuperate. Grand General Xiao Jian and his wife traveled in the imperial entourage. The Prince of Hui served as regent.

The White Lake traveling palace was, it could be said, the one thing in all of Emperor Chaoxi’s life — this sovereign praised so lavishly by later generations, regarded as one who stood shoulder to shoulder with only the Founding Emperor in terms of historical achievement — that people found puzzling and hard to account for. No matter how strongly the court ministers of the time opposed it, Emperor Chaoxi had issued the decree: an unremarkable wilderness mountain on the western edge of Nan Prefecture was to have a lake excavated and a palace constructed at enormous expense.

The lake was granted the imperial name “White Lake.”

The traveling palace was inscribed in the Emperor’s own hand: “White Lake Celestial Palace.”

And a curious thing had come to pass: once White Lake was excavated, a natural spring was discovered, and within only a few days the entire lake had filled with clear, flowing water. The craftsmen dug further channels to redirect the overflow, which then irrigated the farmland at the foot of the mountain. What had begun as an act of willfulness had ended as an act of beneficence.

The traveling palace itself was nothing like other imperial residences in terms of opulence or grandeur. Built following the contours of the mountain, it appeared, for all that it was man-made, almost as though it had grown there naturally — plain in its artistry, understated and refined.

Tonight was the middle of the lunar month. The full moon was bright as white jade, its clear light pouring in all directions.

“This was prepared from old mountain ginseng shaped at White Mountain itself. One way or another, His Majesty must drink at least a mouthful.” Jun Pinyu handed the ginseng broth she had simmered herself to Hua Chunran with careful attention, and added a few more words of instruction.

“Yes.” Hua Chunran took it. These days she had kept vigil day and night at Huang Chao’s bedside without once entrusting it to another, and the brilliant beauty of her face had begun to show the strain of weariness.

“Your Majesty.” She called softly. The figure on the imperial bed made no response. Since falling unconscious that day, he had not woken again — it was only Jun Pinyu’s medical skill and rare medicines that sustained the last thread of his breath.

She bent her head and drank a mouthful of the broth herself first, then raised Huang Chao up and fed it to him, spoonful by spoonful, over and over. Half an hour passed before the bowl was empty.

She picked up a silk handkerchief and wiped away the drops of broth at the corner of his lips. She looked at the face that had grown so thin and gaunt — nearly unrecognizable — and the ache in her chest was almost unbearable.

“What a clear lake!”

All at once, a voice as clear as the wind through reeds drifted through the air — unhurried and far-reaching, filling the whole of the traveling palace inside and out.

Hua Chunran’s hand trembled. She went still.

The figure lying unconscious on the bed stirred — and then, as though by a miracle, opened his eyes.

“Your Majesty!” Hua Chunran cried out, filled with startled joy.

“She has come.” Those golden eyes blazed with sudden, brilliant light.

“Yes, she has.” Hua Chunran smiled warmly. She helped him sit up and dressed him.

Huang Chao stepped solidly onto the floor. He then lifted from the pillow’s edge a lotus-shaped basin carved from flawless white jade, and walked outside — one step after another, steady and strong.

Hua Chunran watched him go with a smile. Perhaps in his heart, that person would always and forever be the celestial being who sang among the flowers and danced beside the water at the edge of Lianhua Lake.

The guards throughout the traveling palace, startled by that sudden voice from nowhere, had not fallen into panic. Each remained at their post — for the Sweeping Snow General at the palace gate had raised his hand with calm authority to signal them back.

The lake followed the contour of the mountain. In the moonlit night, its surface shimmered and rippled, reflecting the traveling palace with its lanterns blazing like fire — it looked like nothing so much as the celestial palace of the jade terrace. The white-clad figure standing at the lake’s edge might have been a traveler from beyond the world, untouched by any dust.

Step by step he drew closer. This body — it did not quite feel like his own. All his pain and illness had vanished. He moved lightly, as though borne on the wind.

White robes and moonlight. Her grace was unchanged.

Clear eyes, a smile — and at the corner of her lips, a trace of her familiar mockery.

Time and space seemed to fold back on themselves. It was the wilderness mountain of their first meeting, long ago.

“I have come.”

White robes billowing, dark hair floating — it was as though she had stepped down from the night sky itself.

He looked at her. Then, he bent at the waist, the jade basin filled to the brim with clear water, and held it out before her, looking at her.

She looked at him. Then, she broke into a smile — like a night-blooming flower suddenly opening, dark fragrance drifting. Her slender hands dipped into the basin, and she lifted out a cupped palmful of water and splashed it across her face.

“I have washed.” The face, rinsed with water, was clearer and purer than ever.

He gave a faint, quiet smile. The jade basin slipped from his hands — and drifted across the surface of the lake like a white lotus.

“I’m going now.” She gave him one last look, then turned to leave.

“Feng Xiyun.” The name left him before he could stop it. The departing figure paused, and turned.

“All these years…” There was so much to say, so much unsaid — and only these three words came out.

“I know.” She gave him a radiant smile, and then she was gone, drifting away on the air.

He watched until that figure had vanished into the night sky.

“Your Majesty — let us go back.” Hua Chunran was at his side — he had not noticed when she had come.

Huang Chao raised his face. The moonlight was like silver, spilling frost-white over all of heaven and earth.

“Bring your husband’s horse.” He said suddenly.

Hua Chunran was surprised, but she called for a guard to bring the imperial mount.

Huang Chao stroked the horse’s dark red mane, then swung into the saddle with fluid ease.

He sat tall on horseback and looked out — ten thousand lights burning in the homes of the people below, layered mountains in the distance, rivers flowing broad and free.

All of it was beneath his feet.

“The Emperor of my dynasty cannot die in a sickbed like an invalid!” He laughed — proud and full of fire.

He raised the whip. The horse cried out and leaped forward. That figure — standing tall as a mountain — rose into the air… and fell.

“Your Majesty!” Countless voices cried out in alarm, people running from every direction.

“Chunran.” In the haze, he barely opened his eyes. “If I were to live this life again — I would make every choice the same. I have no regrets.”

If he lived it all again, he would still be moved by that wild, wind-free woman in the wilderness mountain. He would still take the most beautiful princess in the world as his wife in Hua Du. He would still release that heartless, love-severing, feeling-cutting arrow at the confrontation at Dongdan.

This was his choice. Whatever he had gained, whatever he had lost — he had no regrets.

“Huang Chao — I have no regrets either.” Hua Chunran drew the man who had passed quietly away into her arms and held him close, murmuring softly.

She had no regrets for that first sight of him in the Luohua Palace, when her heart had been moved without warning. She had no regrets for choosing that arrogant young man in Jinhua Palace to be her husband. She had no regrets for these ten years of marriage, with all its long seasons of solitude.

On the twenty-fifth day of the eighth month of the eighth year of Xize, at the hour of xu, the great sovereign Emperor Chaoxi passed away at the traveling palace in Nan Prefecture.

His final words: Rather this than die in a sickbed like an invalid. No regrets for a single thing done in this life.