“A figure in deep ink-black…”

At Yuquan Palace, the outposts halfway up the mountain had been breached. Rebels swarmed upward, leaving scorched earth and corpses strewn in their wake.

The magnificent and imposing main gate was half-burnt, the palace walls standing in ruins in the darkness before dawn, with billowing smoke and unceasing screams.

Lanterns were dropped to the ground as approaching flames drew near. The Imperial Guards commander and Eunuch Feng led the few dozen remaining personal guards to escort the Emperor in abandoning the hall. Leaving behind even the carriages, supplies, and palace ladies, they rushed toward the back gate.

Footsteps approached, and everyone looked up anxiously to see about a hundred men dressed as Imperial Guards pouring in through the courtyard gate.

The Emperor hadn’t expected that a contingent of the Imperial Guards would remain and was greatly pleased. But before he could speak, several feathered arrows flew past, piercing the chests of the personal guards at his side.

“Benighted ruler without virtue, come quickly to meet your death!”

Hearing this ferocious shout, the Emperor finally awoke as if from a dream: there were traitors among the Imperial Guards, and these people had come to take his head!

In his nineteen years on the throne, for the first eight, he had been diligent and conscientious, working for the country and the people, even creating a prosperous era of peace and stability. Yet in the end, he was driven to this point by rebels, labeled a “benighted ruler.”

The Emperor’s rage burned his heart. He snatched a bow and arrow from a guard, drew the string, and released. The rebel Imperial Guard captain who had just shouted fell with a cry.

“Traitor!”

…

…

The Emperor’s crown was askew, his robes in disarray, as if shouting hoarsely at an invisible ghost, “Zhao Cheng, is that you? Defeated enemy, come face me in battle!”

As he spoke, two more arrows were fired in succession, pinning the ground at the feet of the rebel group.

“Zhao Cheng” was the name of the former Crown Prince. As this name was spoken, an unnamed chill surged in everyone’s hearts.

The Emperor had once commanded armies and fought on battlefields before ascending the throne. His residual might still intimidated, and under his hoarse rebuke, the rebel troops all cautiously halted their advance.

The Imperial Guard commander Gao Jian, his forehead covered in sweat, drew the Emperor back: “Your Majesty, we must not delay!”

In the darkness, the Emperor stumbled, his bow and arrows falling to the ground. Looking down, he saw several corpses of attendants killed by stray arrows.

Seeing the Emperor lose his weapon, like an old wolf stripped of claws and fangs, the rebels suddenly awoke as if from a dream. Arrows fell like rain as they pursued.

The Emperor, both ill and in crisis, panted like an ox. Those few arrows had already exhausted all his strength. Watching his guards fall one after another, the tide turning against them, even a lifetime of iron and blood couldn’t hide his terror.

Just then, a long halberd flew through the air, impaling the rebel who had raised a sword against the Emperor.

The Emperor, having lost his shoes and socks, was barely standing with Gao Jian’s desperate support. He raised his head to look.

Empress Wei was bathed in blood, her hair disheveled, leading two hundred remnant soldiers and palace people in a charge against the rebels, fighting with wooden staffs, broken swords, and even bare hands and feet. She strode forward, her true-red wide sleeves tied up with band strings, soaked in blood. She pulled the halberd from the corpse with deft movements, spinning it powerfully in her hands before planting it on the ground with a clang that sent dust flying.

“Retreat to defend Guangming Hall! The mountain path at the back gate has been seized by bandits. Going out now would be suicide!”

In the overwhelming firelight, this woman with her disheveled hair flying displayed the chilling aura of one who could hold a pass alone.

Yes, the Emperor suddenly remembered that many, many years ago, he had once regretted: Empress Wei Ling was resolute and unyielding, more like a member of the Wei family than her brother Wei Yan.

If she had not been a woman, if she had not chosen to enter the palace as a consort, she could have carried on her ancestral legacy and become a fine general guarding a region.

……

“Wanlan, don’t worry about me!”

Amid the scorching smoke, Li Kexing, his official robe covered in dust, leaned against a blood-stained pillar, barely standing as he cried in anguish, “Won’t you even listen to your teacher anymore?”

The sounds of blade combat drew ever closer, but Zhou Ji seemed not to hear.

“As a student, how could I abandon my teacher in danger?”

Two strands of hair had fallen loose from his neatly bound temples. He removed his outer robe and wrapped it around the aged Li Kexing, then turned his back to his honored teacher, half-kneeling with a crouched posture, presenting his slender, upright back. “This student will carry the teacher forward.”

“Wanlan, put me down!”

Li Kexing was suddenly lifted by the young man’s bony shoulders. His clouded eyes instantly reddened with moisture. “This sudden calamity, with continuous military attacks and disasters—this old man can’t move anymore. In my declining years, death is of little concern. But… cough cough but you are still young, with a long road ahead…”

Zhou Ji’s back sank under the weight, but he reached back to adjust the thin body of the old man, speaking with difficulty yet steadily: “Teacher once taught this student to ‘uphold virtue and preserve goodness.’ If I forsake my conscience to save myself, my path in this life would end here.”

“Look, the dog Emperor’s escorts!”

“Looks like an important official. Capture them!”

Torches approached with chaotic footsteps. Zhou Ji saw the cold gleam of blades reflecting across the ground. Gritting his teeth, he carried his teacher, hobbling forward, trying to find a way out of this maze-like, unfamiliar palace…

But he was, after all, a scholar accustomed to holding a brush. His foot twisted, and he fell forward onto his knees.

Concerned that his teacher on his back might be hurt, he struggled to stabilize himself, supporting himself with his right hand on the ground. Immediately, an excruciating pain shot through his wrist bone.

Seeing this, Li Kexing felt as if his heart were being carved out. He cried in anguish: “Wanlan, let go! We are scholars—we must not live like defeated dogs or spineless insects!”

Zhou Ji didn’t speak. The veins on his forehead bulged as he tried to stand again, but to no avail.

He stopped struggling, silently shielding Li Kexing behind him. His straight back, defying frost and snow, still maintained the integrity and spirit of a scholar.

As the blade shadow fell, his loose hair at his forehead fluttered, and he closed his eyes.

However, the expected intense pain did not come. An arrow shot through the chest of the rebel wielding the sword. Even as he fell, he still looked at the arrowhead protruding from his chest, his eyes full of disbelief.

Zhou Ji opened his eyes, his held breath rushing into his lungs. In the blue-white dawn light, he saw a familiar slender figure with a drawn bow, leading countless armored guards charging forth, cutting down the hundred or so rebels.

It was Princess Changfeng, Zhao Yān.

She was dressed as a man and wasn’t wearing her bright crimson gauze skirt, but Zhou Ji still recognized her instantly among the many blurred faces.

No one knew where her troops had emerged from, appearing before them like divine soldiers.

Dawn pierced the horizon, and the situation suddenly reversed.

Zhao Yān strode forward in the first faint light, her face showing fatigue from a sleepless night, but her eyes still bright. She pulled Zhou Ji up with one hand, asking, “Are you and the Left Minister all right?”

Zhou Ji’s lips moved, but before he could answer, Zhao Yān noticed his swollen wrist beneath his sleeve.

Zhou Ji lowered his wrist, discreetly hiding his injury in his sleeve. Zhao Yān understood he didn’t want Li Kexing to worry or blame himself, so she turned to instruct the guard beside her: “Go bring my horse. Take them east to Longchi Hall and have Imperial Physician Zhang examine their injuries.”

“Yes!”

The horse was quickly brought—a sleek, rouge-colored steed. Zhou Ji helped Li Kexing mount.

The stirrup was somewhat high, and Zhao Yān casually gave a supporting hand. Both Li Kexing and Zhou Ji trembled but said nothing.

Li Kexing looked back from horseback, cupping his hands with a trembling salute: “Your Highness’s kindness today, this old minister will never forget. The Emperor’s whereabouts are still unknown. Please go to his aid!”

“I know.”

Zhao Yān wiped away some blood droplets that had splattered on her face, raising an eyebrow at Zhou Ji. “Official Zhou, you go up too and protect your teacher.”

Zhou Ji knew he would only be a hindrance if he stayed. He made no further refusal, giving Zhao Yān a formal salute with gathered sleeves before painfully mounting the horse to escort Li Kexing toward Longchi Hall—

Zhou Ji didn’t know why Zhao Yān had directed him to retreat to this place, but following her instructions was never wrong.

In Longchi Hall, the lantern lights were sparse, the place desolate, with faint water vapor mixing with the distant smell of smoke.

Zhou Ji dismounted first and, together with two female guards Zhao Yān had sent, helped Li Kexing down.

After a day and two nights of turmoil, the spirit of this elder statesman who had served two emperors was completely drained. His robes fluttered in the wind, revealing his stooped, aged frame.

Struggling up the stone steps, Li Kexing tightly held Zhou Ji’s scratched hand, turning his head to look back with a trembling gaze.

This backward glance was quite desolate. The dawn illuminated the scene of devastation. Under the rolling smoke, a swallow circled once around the pavilion that had been burned down by niter-oil rockets, unable to find its nest to perch, and flew with a mournful cry into the depths of the green forest.

“Spring swallows return, nesting in the woods.”

Li Kexing heaved a heavy sigh and called out, “Wanlan.”

“Your student is here.”

Zhou Ji supported Li Kexing’s arm, humbly listening.

The one who had abandoned him was the Emperor he had served all his life; the one who had saved him was a woman he had disdained to associate with.

There was a hint of moisture in Li Kexing’s eyes. After a long while, he only staggered and shook his head: “How shall this old man face, from now on, those sage principles I have believed in all my life?”

Guangming Hall was built atop the visiting palace’s city tower, originally to allow the Emperor to ascend and gaze into the distance, viewing thousands of miles of mountains and rivers. It was easy to defend but difficult to attack.

The rebels, their patience exhausted after a long siege, brought heavy logs to batter the door.

Boom, boom—the heavy sounds were like a summons to death, causing even the loyal guards desperately barricading the door to tremble with each impact. The thick door bolts emitted creaking sounds of imminent breakage under the strain.

Empress Wei was wounded, blood flowing steadily from her arm holding the halberd. She had reached her limit.

In the hall, the Emperor was in a disheveled state, his eyes bloodshot, listening to the impacts growing heavier and heavier. These bandits had disguised themselves as refugees, then suddenly attacked to seize the county outposts, allowing their fellow rebels to pass unhindered. In just half a day, they had surrounded Yuquan Palace.

He couldn’t help thinking that if he hadn’t withdrawn the troops guarding Luozhou, the bandits wouldn’t have been able to roam freely to this point, threatening the capital region…

No, Wenren Lin was already beyond control. Had he brought back the head of the rebel leader?

Or had he simply beheaded some nameless soldier to fill the quota?

The Emperor couldn’t suppress using suspicion to cover the regret in his heart. His breathing was labored as he clutched his chest, coughing incessantly. Eunuch Feng limped forward with a cup of cold tea, but the Emperor knocked it over with a trembling hand.

He had grown old, and everyone seemed eager to tear a piece of flesh from his body.

The outer door was on the verge of collapse. The Emperor clenched his fist, stood up, and said in a deep voice: “If the door breaks today, then men will fight to the death, and women will die for the country. There are no cowards by my side. We absolutely cannot suffer the humiliation of these rebels!”

As these words were spoken, the more than two hundred palace people and guards who had retreated to the hall fell silent, either solemnly prepared to face death or silently terrified.

“Why must we die?”

Empress Wei, her face pale, coldly rebuked: “Everyone, take up weapons, come with knives to fight. No one is permitted to commit suicide! Surrendering meekly is cowardice. Even if we perish together, it’s better than baring our necks for slaughter!”

With these words from Empress Wei, the previously despairing palace people and guards rekindled a spark of vitality. They all tightly gripped their blunted swords, or wooden staffs, or tables and chairs, gathering spontaneously at the front of the hall, preparing for the final battle to the death.

The Emperor looked at his wife with complex emotions, including both admiration and contemplation.

The turning point came at this moment—the battering suddenly stopped, replaced by chaos and wailing from the enemy troops.

Soon after, the Imperial Guard commander Gao Jian, who had been defending the door, strode in with a look of joy, reporting: “Your Majesty, reinforcements have arrived!”

The Emperor immediately said “Good” and urgently asked: “Which minister has come to the rescue? When I return to the palace, I must reward them heavily!”

“It seems to be the heir of the Marquis of Jinping and the guards from Princess Shoukang of Changle’s residence, along with the Eastern Palace Guards and…”

Gao Jian lowered his head, quickly saying, “And Princess Changfeng.”

Pei Sa, Gu Xing, and Shuangjian entered the hall, all with blood-stained battle robes. They cupped their hands in salute: “This humble official arrived late to rescue Your Majesty. Please forgive us.”

“You all have merits; what forgiveness is needed?”

The Emperor personally helped them up, then looked behind them. “Where are your masters?”

Pei Sa knew whom the Emperor was asking about and cautiously answered: “The rescue plan was personally designed by Princess Changfeng. Without her leadership, we could never have broken through the enemy lines. But Her Highness says she is a person awaiting punishment and dares not appear before Your Majesty.”

This was merely a modest statement, as the Emperor well knew. After a moment, he said: “Take me to see her.”

At Longchi Hall, the pool water had been stained light red by several corpses.

In the inner changing room, wardrobes were arranged on both sides, revealing the entrance to a secret passage. Zhao Yān had Zhou Ji help Li Kexing enter first.

Shortly after, an Eastern Palace Guard reported: “Your Highness, several rebels have escaped.”

Zhao Yān picked up a few blood-stained arrows to fill her quiver and instructed: “Pursue them, but proceed with caution. Also, if any palace people or attendants are fleeing, capture them as well, but do not harm them.”

She needed to be clear about who the traitor and spy was around her father.

Just as arrangements were made, she saw Pei Sa and others leading the Emperor, Empress, and surviving palace attendants limping over.

“Mother.”

Zhao Yān saw that one of Empress Wei’s sleeves was soaked with blood and frowned as she stepped forward. “How serious is your injury?”

“This Empress is fine.”

Empress Wei looked at her dust-covered daughter, swallowed several times, and her body, which had been pushed to the extreme, suddenly weakened, almost collapsing.

Zhao Yān quickly caught her and said softly, “Zhang Xu has brought medicine and is treating the wounded in the secret passage. Let him examine you.”

The Emperor’s robes were in disarray as he leaned on Eunuch Feng’s hand, carefully examining the secret passage entrance before him.

“Yuquan Palace has a secret passage, yet I was unaware.” He said heavily, as if merely thinking aloud.

Zhao Yān handed Empress Wei to palace attendants to escort into the secret passage, then bowed to the Emperor, her voice noticeably more constrained: “Father. This child discovered it accidentally when I came here to recuperate from illness. It’s an emergency passage that the craftsmen didn’t have time to seal.”

She made up a random explanation. The Emperor tacitly understood and softened his voice: “How many troops did you bring?”

“They are all concerned about Father Emperor’s safety—a rescue force assembled on their own, fewer than three thousand men.”

“Fewer than three thousand men…”

The Emperor nodded, stepping forward. “You entered through here, didn’t you?”

Zhao Yān remained silent. Pei Sa appropriately said, “This place is unsafe. Please, Your Majesty, enter the secret passage first for temporary shelter.”

The group formed a long line, entering the secret passage in an orderly manner.

In the darkness, people supported each other, groping their way forward. Besides footsteps of varying heaviness, not a word was spoken.

Reaching an open area in the middle, Gu Xing, who had gone ahead to scout, returned to report: “Your Majesty, the path outside the exit is blockaded.”

“What happened?” the Emperor asked.

“With so many people suddenly coming to the rescue, then mysteriously disappearing into Yuquan Palace, the rebels would naturally grow suspicious and seal off the surrounding paths.”

Zhao Yān had anticipated this. Leaning against the wall, she calmly asked, “How many enemy troops can you estimate?”

“This humble official did not dare to alert them, but roughly estimating, at least ten thousand.”

Gu Xing requested instructions: “This humble official can lead a small team to break through the encirclement and draw away the main enemy force.”

Pei Sa rejected the idea: “The enemy forces are several times ours. Not just your small team, but even if all of us went out together, it would be suicide.”

“Correct.”

Zhao Yān surveyed the wounded and exhausted people in the torchlight. “Everyone is weary. We should prioritize conserving our strength. After we recover, we may yet have a chance to fight.”

“What does Your Highness mean?”

“Wait.”

One word, resounding firmly.

Time passed indistinguishably in the mountain. People slept leaning on each other in the damp, cold secret passage, briefly recovering their energy.

The Emperor had also lost the strength to keep going. He sat cross-legged on the only flat stone platform, meditating. Due to his sickly, pale complexion, his closed-eyed appearance had lost its former, immortal Daoist aura, replaced instead by a ghostly air of blue face and protruding fangs.

After an unknown period, the scouts brought news again.

The frustrated rebels had spread rumors in the capital that “the Emperor has been assassinated and died; welcome the former Crown Prince to reclaim the throne,” attempting to disturb the people’s hearts and make the imperial city fall without a fight.

The Emperor’s eyelids twitched heavily, and he said hoarsely: “They think they can seize my throne with an impostor! These rebels, ten thousand deaths wouldn’t redeem their crimes!”

With that, he broke into another fit of heart-rending coughing.

Zhao Yān, however, remained very calm, sitting alone in the stone chamber at the bottom of the stone steps—this was originally where Zhao Yuan’yu and Chou Zui had been imprisoned during her previous visit to Yuquan Palace. Now it had been cleaned thoroughly, without even a single withered grass blade or bloodstain remaining.

She was very tired but immensely grateful that she had spent a year learning riding and archery with Wenren Lin, giving her the ability to save important lives in this battle.

Behind her came the rustle of clothing. Zhao Yān turned to see Empress Wei, her wounds bandaged, carrying a wrinkled cloak and sitting down beside her.

“Why did you come to the rescue?” Empress Wei asked.

Instead of answering, Zhao Yān counter-questioned: “Why did Mother risk her life to protect Father?”

Empress Wei fell silent.

Their reasons were the same: not out of blind loyalty to protect the man on the dragon throne, but because they didn’t want the world destroyed by the conspiracy of rebels and foreigners, and also for the truth that had yet to be fully uncovered.

“I have one more reason than Mother.”

Zhao Yān said softly, “My good friends, and my… closest kin, were trapped here. I didn’t want you all to die.”

Empress Wei felt a warmth in her heart and wrapped the cloak around Zhao Yān’s thin shoulders.

Zhao Yǎn had been frail and afraid of the cold, always needing protection from the wind and extra layers. What Zhao Yān had seen most often was the image of her mother wrapping him in clothes.

And now this garment fell on her shoulders, as gently as she had imagined.

Empress Wei quickly withdrew her hand. After a long while, she spoke again: “The rebels attack with rumors. Aren’t you afraid the capital will surrender without a fight?”

Zhao Yān pulled the cloak tighter, looking at a dried drop of blood on the back of her hand: “I’m not afraid, because Liu Baiwei is there, and so are the scholars of Mingde Hall.”

She trusted them.

Empress Wei spoke no more. Mother and daughter maintained a close yet cautious distance as they sat properly, keeping each other company, neither leaning on the other.

“There’s movement outside.”

When Zhao Yān was awakened, she had been resting her head on Empress Wei’s lap, covered with that thin cloak.

She hurriedly rose, following the sound up the stone steps, only to see Pei Sa and Gu Xing pressing their ears against the stone door nearby, carefully listening.

The rest of the people, surrounding the Emperor, had retreated about forty paces, vigilantly watching that stone door as if ghosts might break through at any moment to devour everyone.

Click. Zhao Yān heard the familiar sound of a mechanism being activated.

She gripped the short dagger at her waist and shouted: “Stand back!”

Pei Sa and Gu Xing drew their swords and retreated, shielding Zhao Yān.

With a rumbling sound, some dust fell from the crevices, and then the stone door slowly rotated to one side. Dazzling light entered the darkness inch by inch, so bright that Zhao Yān could barely open her eyes.

In that light, a figure in deep ink-black robes stood tall, like an immortal descending to the mortal world.

As her eyes adjusted to the strong light and her vision gradually cleared, Zhao Yān could finally see that cold, fair, handsome face spattered with blood droplets, and the still-dripping crimson blood on his blade.

“It’s Prince Su…”

Someone murmured. Though they should have been excited and happy, not a single person dared step forward.

Wenren Lin’s deep gaze passed over Pei Sa and Gu Xing, falling directly on Zhao Yān, then he stepped forward.

Behind him, the Eagle Riders, all blood-stained, stood in neat formation.

Coming to her senses, Zhao Yān spoke first: “Prince Su’s reinforcements have arrived most timely, even half a day earlier than Grandmother had planned.”

She smiled with relief, looking directly into Wenren Lin’s eyes.

Wenren Lin didn’t respond, stepping down the stone stairs and walking slowly toward her.