“An ancient zither of seven strings, silent and still — for whom does it wait?
For Ziqi to lend his eager ear, or Xiangru’s nimble hands to play?
A thousand years of bitter longing — only the cool breeze remains to brush its strings!
An ancient ginkgo on a sheer cliff face, swaying gently — for whom does it wait?
For Taibai to lie drunk in revelry, or Dongpo to sing wildly from the heights?
Ten thousand years of faithful vigil — only the shadow of the ice-wheel moon remains!
A white-robed figure in a secluded valley, leaning against bamboo — for whom does she wait?
For a wild goose returning from the farthest edge of the sky, or the delicate Swallow Pavilion?
At dusk she gazes into the distance in anguish — only withered frost-flowers remain!
Turn and linger with a long gaze — all the affairs of this world are emptiness!”
A strand of mournful song drifted lightly through the evening breeze, as though the singer harbored boundless sorrow with nowhere to pour it and no one to receive it — so desolate, so full of grief.
The Falling Blossom Palace in the twilight had shed a measure of its splendor and elegance. True to its name, it carried in the height of summer’s riot of flowers a trace of the despondency and loneliness that only comes after all grandeur has passed.
“Your Highness, this is cloud-tip tea gathered from Fog Mountain. Please have a sip to soothe your throat.” Ling’er offered a cup of fragrant tea and softly called to Hua Chunran, who sat before the zither table.
“Leave it there.” Hua Chunran did not raise her head, replying with cool indifference.
“Your Highness…are you worried about the safety of the Great King and the Prince Consort?” Ling’er stole a glance at Hua Chunran and asked with careful caution.
“Ling’er, what do you think of the Prince Consort?” Hua Chunran, who had been gazing steadily at the seven-string zither, suddenly lifted her head to look at Ling’er. The softness drained from her beautiful eyes, leaving her gaze bright and sharp.
“The Prince… the Prince Consort?” Ling’er’s heart lurched under Hua Chunran’s stare, and she stammered, “The Prince Consort and Young Master Feng… are… are both dragons among men.”
“What are you flustered about?” Seeing Ling’er so frightened, Hua Chunran smiled faintly, restoring her gentle and gracious expression. “I was only asking casually. You may go.”
“Yes.” Ling’er bowed and withdrew, but had not taken more than a few steps before she turned back. “Your Highness, the Second Prince has come to Falling Blossom Palace every day these past several days. I have followed your instructions each time, telling him you are behind closed doors praying and reciting sutras for the Great King and will see no one. But… it has been so long now… you…” She stole a glance at Hua Chunran’s expression and, seeing it calm and composed, continued, “The Second Prince seems very anxious. Should you perhaps see him?”
“Ha… it seems my royal brothers have rather small courage.” Hua Chunran heard this and smiled thinly, though her smile carried a cold and mocking edge. “They did nothing more than mobilize five hundred thousand troops without reporting to Father King — and yet they are so terrified of his punishment. How could such men ever carry on Father King’s great undertaking? Truly…” She shook her head, seeming somewhat resigned, somewhat disappointed, and somewhat relieved.
“Then, Your Highness…” Ling’er ventured, “the next time the Second Prince comes, will you see him?”
Hua Chunran’s eyes flickered at the words. She rose from her seat, walked over to Ling’er, and studied her closely for a long moment before smiling softly. “Second Royal Brother is the most handsome among the princes of our Hua royal clan — not only dignified in bearing, but a fine writer as well, and able to sing and play instruments. He is the most talented of all the princes and the one most favored by Father King. Don’t you agree, Ling’er?”
Ling’er’s heart seized at these words. She dropped to her knees with a thud, bowing her head and trembling. “Your… Your Highness… this servant… I…”
“Ling’er, what are you doing?” Hua Chunran looked at Ling’er’s behavior with apparent puzzlement. “You have done nothing wrong, and I have no intention of reproaching you. Why carry on like this?”
“Your Highness, this servant knows her wrong — please forgive me.” Ling’er was overcome with dread.
“You know your wrong? What wrong have you committed?” Hua Chunran still seemed not quite to understand, her dark brows furrowing slightly. “You have always been my most capable maidservant, and I have always treated you as a sister. You have always served me wholeheartedly and with dedication. To say such a thing truly puzzles me.”
“Your Highness, this servant… this servant…” Ling’er bowed her head in utter panic, stumbling over her words without managing a single complete sentence, her lovely face cycling between red and white.
“Ling’er, what has come over you?” Hua Chunran’s voice remained soft and tender, as pleasant as the gentle cry of a nightingale.
“Your Highness, this servant will never dare again — please forgive me just this once!” Ling’er finally raised her head, gazing at her mistress with a plea in her eyes. Having served the Princess for so many years, she knew how utterly enchanting that flawless face before her was — and yet she also knew how deep and ruthless the heart behind that beauty truly was. She had witnessed it firsthand. How else could the Princess hold the highest position in this royal palace, such that even the Great King’s most favored consorts were compelled to step aside?
“Ling’er, you keep asking me to forgive you, yet even now I still do not know what you have actually done wrong. How can I forgive you without knowing the offense?” Hua Chunran sat gracefully back down on the zither bench. She touched the tip of her nose lightly with a silk handkerchief, then lifted her teacup and took a gentle sip before continuing, “You ought to tell me clearly.”
“Your Highness, this servant…” Ling’er’s fingers clenched tightly around the hem of her skirt. At last she steeled herself. “This servant should not have picked up the flower note the Second Prince dropped. This servant should not have accepted the jade ring the Second Prince sent. This servant should not have spoken up for the Second Prince. This servant should not have… should not have developed feelings… feelings of affection for the Second Prince. This servant… Your Highness, this servant knows she has erred. I beg you, in light of these years this servant has faithfully served you, to spare me this once. Your Highness…” Ling’er reached out to clasp Hua Chunran’s knees, tears streaming down her face as she pleaded.
“Oh, so that is what it is.” Hua Chunran nodded with sudden understanding, leaning forward slightly and gently lifting Ling’er’s chin with her hand. “There is no wrong in that. A girl in the full bloom of youth, as lovely and charming as you are, and Second Brother such a fine gentleman — it is perfectly natural that you two should be drawn to each other. Second Brother and I are siblings born of the same mother, and you and I have shared the bond of mistress and maid. It is really I who ought to help you both.”
“Your Highness… this servant…” Ling’er was even more overcome with dread by these very words.
“Ling’er, it is nothing. I will not reproach you.” Hua Chunran patted Ling’er on the shoulder and gently wiped the tears from her face, saying softly, “Get up now. After kneeling so long, your knees must ache. If Second Royal Brother found out, he would surely worry and then blame me, and that would be more than I could bear.”
Such gentle words, such considerate gestures, such a beautiful face, such a sweet smile… Anyone would surely be enchanted and carried away by them. And yet… yet she knew. Behind all of it, those eyes — soft as still water — had long since seen through everything and held it all firmly in their grasp. When the Princess grew cold, those methods, that ruthlessness… she had witnessed it firsthand. How else could the Princess hold the foremost position in the entire royal palace, so that even the Great King’s most favored consorts were compelled to yield and keep their distance?
“Your Highness… this servant… this servant should not have told the Second Prince everything Your Highness shared with me in private!” Ling’er blurted it out in a single breath — and then, in the span of a single instant, the sweet smile on the Princess’s face vanished, and the warmth in her eyes faded away. All her own tears, all her fear and dread — in that moment they seemed to recede far into the distance. She bowed her head and closed her eyes, waiting… waiting for a judgment that would be either cruel, or perhaps… perhaps merciful.
Hua Chunran looked at Ling’er kneeling at her feet with a face utterly still and unreadable — looking for a long time, quietly, without any expression, for so long that Ling’er was nearly at the edge of despair before her voice rose, stripped of all feeling: “Ling’er, how many years have you been with me?”
“Six years,” Ling’er answered, trembling.
“Six years, is it? All these years and you have not learned the wisdom of handling things well — instead you grow more muddled with each passing day.” Hua Chunran smiled coldly, her gaze like needles piercing into Ling’er. “Over the years, your little schemes and behaviors — I simply turned a blind eye, since they caused no real harm. But this time… hmph! You have actually grown more foolish with age! After all these years at my side, could you truly not know what manner of person I am? Do you think me someone who can be deceived so easily?”
“This servant… this servant…” Ling’er trembled and dared not raise her eyes to meet Hua Chunran’s.
“To think that when you first entered the palace you were no more than a twelve-year-old maidservant. I took pity on your quick wit and obedience and elevated you to be my personal attendant. All these years, I ask myself whether I have treated you poorly. Of the nearly two hundred palace servants in Falling Blossom Palace, it could be said that in everything save myself, your standing exceeds all others. Though I have many brothers and sisters, my regard for you could be said to be even more genuine and intimate than for them. And yet you…” Hua Chunran’s gaze was like a cold, clear spring — cool and transparent as she regarded Ling’er, this person who had, in a sense, grown up alongside her, whom she had always looked upon as a younger sister. “Is this the return you make me for all of that?”
“Your Highness, Ling’er has no heart to betray you or do you harm — Ling’er swears it to heaven!” Ling’er lifted her head and met Hua Chunran’s ice-cold gaze directly. Bitter suffering and remorse filled her eyes. “Ling’er truly had no intention of betraying you. It was only that when the Second Prince asked, Ling’er… Ling’er…”
“Could not help herself and just told him everything, is that it?” Hua Chunran suddenly smiled — a smile tinged with helplessness and sorrow. “It seems that in your heart I cannot compare to Second Royal Brother. Otherwise, why would you have told him everything without a moment’s hesitation?”
“Your Highness…” Ling’er sobbed, tears surging forth again, her heart filled with both remorse and pain, not knowing what to do. Thinking of the Princess’s many years of generous treatment, she suddenly found herself wishing the Princess would punish her severely instead.
“Get up. I do not blame you, nor do I wish to reproach you.” After a moment, Hua Chunran said quietly, casting her eyes down to the seven-string zither on the table. “The noble houses and the deep palace — truly, there is no such thing as sincerity here.”
“Your Highness, I…” Ling’er could not believe the Princess would let her off entirely without punishment. This was not the Princess she knew. Had the Princess not always maintained that one must never provoke others, but that once provoked, one must repay the offense twofold? For a betrayal like hers, should the Princess not have shown no mercy and put her to death? And yet… why…
“Are you still not going to get up? Must I help you to your feet myself?” Hua Chunran rose and walked to the window, her gaze sweeping across the palace buildings in the fading light. The royal palace that gleamed gold and green by day appeared in the dim twilight like some enormous beast, its great maw open wide, devouring all these lords and nobles. “The reason I do not blame you is because…”
Her voice paused briefly, and then a faint smile crossed her lips — a smile tinged with self-mockery and melancholy. “To think that in those days, did I not exhaust every means to try to keep him as well? Only because he was not a man of this deep palace. Only because of those eyes… eyes as dark as the night sky, so vast and boundless, yet the occasional glimmer of starlight that flickered through them was warm… I only wanted to grasp hold of that trace of warmth at the very depths of those eyes. Had I been able to grasp it, it would surely have been the most genuine and most comforting thing in the world… Only…” She shook her head with resignation, then turned to look at Ling’er. “The Second Brother whom I consider weak and inept may well be a fine man in your eyes. For his sake you were willing to betray me. That kind of feeling… I have compassion for the sentiment. This once, I will spare you. Get up.”
“Ling’er… thanks your Highness!” Ling’er rose to her feet with a slight trembling of her body, filled at once with shame and gratitude.
“Only…” Hua Chunran walked to the dressing table and gently ran her hand over a sandalwood jewelry box, lightly opening it — and at once a brilliant radiance flooded forth. “Since you and Second Brother have feelings for each other, I shall make a match of it for you both.”
“No! Your Highness!” Ling’er dropped to her knees again with a thud, bowing her head repeatedly. “Ling’er is willing to serve Your Highness for the rest of her life. Please keep Ling’er here. From now on Ling’er will give her whole heart entirely to Your Highness. Please keep Ling’er here!”
“There is no need for this.” Hua Chunran picked up a gold phoenix hairpin — about five inches in length, crafted with exquisite artistry. Set upon the phoenix’s eyes were two pearls the size of a fingertip, and along the phoenix’s tail were inlaid fine gemstones of red, green, blue, yellow, and black. A single glance was enough to tell it was of extraordinary value. “Though you cannot leave here as a grand official bride to become Second Royal Brother’s principal consort, you are nonetheless departing from my side — you cannot go too plainly. This box of jewelry, along with this ‘Fire Cloud Golden Phoenix’ that I treasure dearly, shall be your dowry.”
“Your Highness, Ling’er does not want it! Please, Your Highness, do not send Ling’er away!” Ling’er wept and pleaded.
“You can no longer remain with me.” Hua Chunran stepped forward and raised her hand gently, motioning for Ling’er to rise. “Now that your heart has turned toward Second Brother, I can never fully trust you again. If you stay in Falling Blossom Palace, it will only add to your suffering. Besides, for the sake of these six years of friendship between us, I do not wish to have cause to deal with you harshly in the future. I am not a person of pure goodness and broad forgiveness. Let us part on good terms.”
“Your Highness…” Ling’er looked at Hua Chunran with heartbroken eyes, tears falling like rain.
“This box of jewelry has always been in your care to organize and manage — it is entirely fitting to give it to you. Take it. Pack your belongings. Tomorrow I will send someone to escort you to Second Royal Brother’s residence.” Hua Chunran placed the gold hairpin back into the box, glanced over at Ling’er, and waved her hand. “Go. My word, once given, does not change.”
“Your Highness, Ling’er… Ling’er…”
“Go. And take a message to Second Royal Brother for me: ‘Regarding the matter of the mobilized troops — when Father King returns, Chunran will personally account to him for the offense.'”
Ling’er withdrew in sorrow and grief. Hua Chunran sat quietly, her fingers gently brushing the zither strings. Amid the murmuring notes, her low voice rose: “In this world — what is it that truly matters most?” Such bewilderment and helplessness in those words.
The night sky had not been so clear in a long while. Starlight filled the heavens and moonlight poured across the earth; sky and land in this moment were still and solemn.
Wuhui Valley at night was silent. The green hills rose lush and verdant, grass and trees thriving in abundance. Within the valley, military tents stood in orderly rows, the encampments clearly arrayed, banners rippling in the night breeze — and within that stillness there dwelled a sense of gravity and tension.
“You have been watching for half the night. Have you discerned anything?”
Huang Chao climbed quietly up the hillside. Yu Wuyuan stood at the crest, gazing up at the sky with a serene expression. The night wind lifted the hem of his robes — a Tianren who seemed about to ride the wind and soar away.
“Look over there.” Yu Wuyuan raised his hand and pointed toward the southwest of the sky. There, the stars were more numerous and more brilliant than anywhere else, as though all the constellations had made a pact to gather together in one place, their light illuminating the whole of the sky.
“What does this signify?” Huang Chao knew nothing of celestial phenomena, but this sight was too extraordinary not to prompt the question.
“The southwest — are we not positioned in the southwest?” Yu Wuyuan lowered his hand, his voice ethereal and enigmatic. “The Royal Star and the General Star have all converged here.”
“Does that mean the ruler of all under heaven will also be decided here?” Huang Chao shifted his gaze from the starry sky to Yu Wuyuan’s face. “Without waiting for the gathering at Changmang Shan — the lord of all under heaven is to be determined right here in Wuhui Valley?”
“It should not be so.” Yu Wuyuan shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the southwestern cluster of stars. “Wuhui Valley should not be the place where you determine victory and defeat. The situation of the times will not permit you to fight to the death here.”
“Why do you say that?” Huang Chao’s gaze swept toward the sky. “Do not even the star formations declare that we ought to fight here?”
“No.” Yu Wuyuan shook his head again. “Unless one is truly backed into a desperate corner, the method of staking everything on a single throw must be reserved for a time when one has no lingering concerns at one’s rear. And you…” Suddenly he stopped speaking. In those calm, still eyes, a flash of brightness appeared for an instant, and a faint smile — as though he had long since understood — rose to his face. “Look. Just as I thought.”
“That is…” Huang Chao saw it too. His sword-like brows furrowed involuntarily. “What does that mean?”
In the southwestern cluster of stars, four stars had suddenly begun to move, seemingly about to scatter apart. They were the largest and brightest of the group — as though they were the leaders of all the stars.
“Heaven’s will has its own pattern.” Yu Wuyuan smiled and turned to look at Huang Chao. “Tomorrow you will understand why.”
The hour of Yin on the twenty-third day of the fifth month.
In the Feng army’s tent, Feng Xi studied intently the urgent letter sent by Feng Guo’s signal fire, remaining silent for a long while.
“Young Master, Master Chuanyu asks that you make your decision as quickly as possible.” A dark shadow knelt hazy and indistinct on the ground. Had he not made a sound, one might almost have mistaken him for a blurry patch of darkness — utterly devoid of any human presence.
“Go back and tell Chuanyu to proceed as he has outlined.” Feng Xi finally set the letter aside and gave his instructions with cool composure.
“Yes. Master also asks — when does the Young Master intend to return to the country?”
“I will notify you when it is time for my return. You may go.” Feng Xi rose to his feet. He extended his hand, and a sprig of ink-dark orchid fell toward the shadow. The shadow stirred, and the orchid was swallowed into the darkness.
“This one takes his leave.”
At the same moment, in the Hua army’s tent, Huang Chao likewise received an urgent letter sent by signal fire.
The tent flap shifted. Yu Wuyuan walked in quietly, his gaze sweeping across the messenger kneeling on the ground, then briefly over the letter in Huang Chao’s hand. He showed no surprise whatsoever, as though he had already foreseen this.
“The Nan Guo has seized four cities in the Wangyu Plains.” Huang Chao handed the letter to Yu Wuyuan.
Yu Wuyuan took it, cast a casual glance over it, and returned it to Huang Chao, then said calmly, “What do you intend to do?”
Huang Chao did not answer. He looked toward the messenger. “Go back and tell General Xiao that I have received and understood the report.” His tone was terse and his bearing austere, carrying with it the authority of someone who brooks no challenge or question — like a dragon whose reverse scale must not be touched.
“Yes!” The messenger bowed his head and withdrew.
Huang Chao rose to his feet, stepped out of the tent, and raised his eyes toward the sky. The morning sun had already risen; sky and earth were flooded with clarity.
“Who would have thought that it truly is as you said — the times will not permit us to fight here.”
“Among the six nations, the four of yours are the strongest, and yet now you are deadlocked in Wuhui Valley. Though Bai Guo and Nan Guo are weaker, how could they let such an opportunity pass? By carving up the Wangyu Plains while you are caught in mutual conflict, they will greatly increase their own strength.” Behind him, Yu Wuyuan spoke with quiet detachment. “And even if you were here to defeat the joint forces of Baifeng and Hei Feng, in terms of the troop strength on both sides, it would only be a victory won at devastating cost. Furthermore…”
“Furthermore, even a victory here would not be the same as seizing Feng Guo. And behind Bai Feng Guo there is still Hei Feng Guo, and there are still the two nations of Bai and Nan, their strength greatly increased. Seen in that light, a battle in Wuhui is truly not worth fighting.” Huang Chao continued the thought, clasping his hands behind his back as he glanced back over his shoulder. His golden-brown eyes were clear and bright, and a faint smile with a slight edge of mockery rose to his face. “Moreover, with five hundred thousand Contending Heaven Cavalry against six hundred thousand Golden Armor Cavalry, facing their nine hundred thousand troops — the victory is not necessarily mine, is it? That is what you meant to say, is it not?”
“In Wuhui Valley, the odds of victory or defeat between you are equal at fifty to fifty.”
“I know. Whether we win or lose, we cannot make this a fight to the death in Wuhui Valley.” Huang Chao turned to face the Feng Guo encampment. “What concerns me most is not victory or defeat against them. It is this realm — the realm I vowed from the age of three to hold in the palm of my hand!”
“In that regard, no one can compare to you.” Yu Wuyuan smiled softly — a smile that held both admiration and a touch of compassion.
“Ha…” Huang Chao laughed without any joy in it. “The Hua King who has been ‘gravely wounded and unconscious’ ought to wake up now. After all, what comes next is for him to do.”
At the end of the Hour of Wu, Feng Xi was escorted into Feng Xi’s tent.
“What purpose does the Feng King have in summoning Lan Xi?” Feng Xi stood quietly in the center of the tent and asked with measured composure.
“Assistant General Yu, please summon Generals Qi, Xiu, Lin, and Cheng to my tent at once.” Feng Xi, however, was giving instructions to a general standing attendant in the tent — a man of around forty years of age, with skin the color of aged bronze.
“Yes.” Assistant General Yu bowed and withdrew.
“This is the peace proposal Huang Chao just sent.” Feng Xi gestured toward the document on the table.
“It seems Huang Chao has encountered the same difficulty.” Feng Xi cast only a brief glance at it and smiled lightly.
“Oh?” Feng Xi tilted her head to look at him with mild curiosity.
Feng Xi reached into his sleeve and produced the urgent letter received that morning, handing it to Feng Xi. “While we have been deadlocked here, Bai Guo and Nan Guo have launched a major offensive on the Wangyu Plains and have each seized four cities. They appear intent on swallowing the entire region in one stroke.”
“So that is it.” Feng Xi read it in a single sweep and returned the letter to Feng Xi, then said calmly, giving nothing away in her expression. “In that case, the shadowy figure that swept through Wuhui Valley this morning swift as a phantom — that would have been your Lan covert messenger?”
Feng Xi glanced at her, lowered his eyes as he took back the letter, and said evenly, “That was a Lan covert messenger — not a spy or infiltrator of any kind.”
Hearing this, Feng Xi looked quietly at Feng Xi, and then let out a faint, almost imperceptible sigh — the sort that seemed to escape without intention, so soft and light, yet it resonated clearly through the tent. Hearing it, Feng Xi could not help but look up. Their gazes met, and each clearly saw in the other’s eyes a flicker of helplessness and pain. Both were inwardly shaken at once; then one turned her head slightly aside, and the other lowered his eyes.
After a moment, Feng Xi took up Huang Chao’s peace proposal from the table. “Since matters stand this way, I shall accept Huang Chao’s peace proposal — and then… I will honor my promise.”