Huang Zixia shook her head and said, “What a pity. I passed by her at the External Teaching Quarter, but we never met.”
“Yes… I’ll never have the chance to see how my daughter has grown up,” she sighed softly and continued, “The last time I saw Xuese was just after her fifth birthday. I was twenty-three then, and Jingxiu—Cheng Jingxiu, my husband at the time—who had always said he didn’t mind my background as a performer, told me that growing up in such a place wouldn’t be good for our daughter, and asked me to leave with him.”
Huang Zixia didn’t understand why she suddenly wanted to tell her these things. But looking at the deathly silence around them, in this cold and empty palace where the long night seemed endless, with no path forward or back, she gazed at Empress Wang before her and, moved by compassion, quietly listened as she continued.
“Though Yunshaoyuan was a performers’ academy, it was not a brothel. We sisters all made our living through art, maintaining our dignity and self-respect. However, after several arguments with Jingxiu, I had no choice but to agree. I took our daughter and followed him north to the capital to try our luck, as he believed his painting skills would surely be appreciated in the grand Chang’an.
“Unfortunately, the journey was not peaceful, with soldiers and bandits causing chaos, and most of my savings were lost. When we reached Chang’an, we were already poor and could only afford to rent a small room. At first, Jingxiu went out to try his luck, but he had no connections—who would help introduce him? Soon, after facing constant disdain and cold shoulders, he no longer wanted to leave the room and just sat there sighing all day.
“In Yangzhou, Jingxiu had been refined and romantic, spending his days painting for pleasure and treating me with tenderness, so our relationship was very good. But once we reached Chang’an, poverty brought a hundred sorrows to our marriage, and I suddenly discovered that the man I had chosen couldn’t even survive. Then Xuese fell ill in that damp and cold little room, and we even had to sell the dew-drop hairpin with leaf veins that Jingxiu had given me as a token of love. We were cold and hungry, with no food or clothes, let alone money for our daughter’s treatment… I carried Xuese to every medical clinic, but because we had no money, even kneeling and crying at their doors brought no help. Jingxiu came to drag me back, scolding me for embarrassing him. I could only hold our daughter through the nights, wiping her body, staying awake to listen to her breathing, watching the sky slowly brighten outside the window… Back then, it was also such a long night, also feeling that if I closed my eyes, I would lose everything before me to despair…”
Even though these events were from twelve years ago, as she spoke of them now, the despair and bleakness still easily cut into the deepest part of her heart. She lay on her pillow, eyes blank and unfocused, her words drifting and confused, as if she wasn’t speaking to the person before her.
“Xuese was fortunate enough to survive, but then Jingxiu fell ill from depression. Seeing that we were about to be thrown out of that shabby room because we couldn’t pay the rent, I had no choice but to go to the West Market alone, keeping it secret from Jingxiu.
“I remember it very clearly. It was winter, and withered locust tree leaves were falling one by one at the edge of the West Market. There was a woman about fifty or sixty years old, wearing tattered brown hemp clothes, begging at the entrance of the West Market. She held an old pipa with peeling lacquer, singing off-key, her voice hoarse. Her dirty, messy hair piled on her shoulders, framing her filthy, wrinkled face like dry moss on weathered stone. But there was no choice… Her ragged clothes couldn’t block the knife-like winter wind, her hands were cracked and bleeding from the cold, her lips purple and chapped, and the tuning pegs of that pipa hadn’t been adjusted for so long, with dried strings off-pitch—how could it possibly play a real pipa tune anymore?”
Two streams of tears finally rolled down Empress Wang’s blank eyes. She covered her face and choked out, “You wouldn’t understand… the despair in my heart then. That day, I stood before that woman for a very, very long time. In that cold afternoon threatening rain, the West Market was empty. I looked at her and seemed to see myself thirty years later, transformed from a brilliantly blooming flower into a black mass of filthy rags… Without support or refuge, poor and sick, finally dying numbly and desolately on the street, my corpse rotting away without a sound, no one knowing I once possessed beauty and talent that thousands had competed to see…”
She took a long, trembling, deep breath and continued with difficulty, “It was that afternoon when I abandoned all my innocence and understood that so-called love actually couldn’t withstand reality at all. What I truly needed wasn’t to depend on Jingxiu for survival, but rather—I needed to live, and I needed to live well, never to face a day of begging with a pipa in the West Market!”
Huang Zixia silently watched her, saying nothing.
“It was then that I met a sister who had studied arts with me. She had been such a clumsy person, not good-looking, always playing the pipa wrong, unable to learn even one song after more than three months—but she had married a tea merchant and wore new brocade clothes, with large gold flowers at her temples and seven or eight hairpins in her hair, showing the vulgarity of newly-rich country folk, yet a hundred times more splendid than me. She sat in her carriage and called out to me walking alone on the street, asking with both sympathy and pride how I had fallen so low, and if I needed help finding work teaching pipa.
“She didn’t even get out of her carriage, just smiled down at me, yet I still felt lucky, because I had truly reached the end of my rope, and without her, I didn’t know where my next step would lead. I followed her to the Wang family of Langya, only saying I was her distant relative who had come to the capital after losing both parents. My pipa skills impressed everyone, so I was kept on. I went back to pack a few clothes and gave Jingxiu the little money that sister had helped with, saying I would send more when I received my monthly wages.” Her voice was faint, barely audible. “At that time, I didn’t even tell him where I was going. Xuese hugged my legs and cried loudly, I could only bite my lip as I picked her up and handed her to Jingxiu’s arms, while he just silently watched me. I walked out of the courtyard gate, and he still didn’t make a sound. I couldn’t help looking back one last time at my husband and daughter but only saw Jingxiu sitting on the bed holding Xuese, the last rays of the sunset reflecting in his eyes, those empty eyes staring at me, staring at me, and even now, they’re still before me…”
Her voice finally grew fainter and fainter, almost inaudible. But in her eyes danced a kind of crazy dark fire that made one’s heart tremble.
Huang Zixia couldn’t help saying softly, “You must have been very reluctant to leave Xuese at that time.”
“Yes, but I had to live my own life—I couldn’t care for her anymore.” Empress Wang turned her gaze toward her, a cold smile on her face. “Not long after I started teaching pipa at the Wang family, Prince Yu came to visit. When I went out carrying my pipa, I saw something light up in his eyes for an instant. In Yangzhou, many people had looked at me that way, and I had always ignored them, but at that moment, for some reason, I suddenly… hesitated just for a moment, and holding my pipa, I smiled gently at him, using the gentle, upward-gazing pose that Jingxiu loved most. Sure enough, Wang Lin soon came to discuss with me, saying Prince Yu had mistaken me for a Wang family daughter and suggested I go along with the misunderstanding and enter the prince’s residence. He was helpless about the Wang family’s decline, truly desperate for any solution—he didn’t know I was from an entertainer’s background, much less that I had a husband and daughter, yet he dared to discuss this with me. As I listened to Wang Lin’s words, like a dream before my eyes flashed that old pipa woman from the West Market, her blackened face, lips, hands… I agreed immediately! I told myself then, like a moth to the flame, even if I die, I must die in a place of brilliant splendor!
“Life is just that absurd—these twelve years, I’ve thrived in the palace, living better than anyone. I secretly eliminated that sister who had recommended me to the Wang family and spent years causing Noble Consort Guo to fall from favor, rising from Consort Hua to Zhaoyi to Noble Consort De and finally to Empress. Though my Yan’er is only the Emperor’s fifth son, he has already been named Crown Prince—I know that palace life suits me best! I stand at the highest point under heaven, receiving the worship of ten thousand people. So what if I lost my love and daughter? I live in magnificent splendor, envied by all under heaven!”
Huang Zixia said softly, “But your daughter refuses to come to the capital to see you. Even if you’ve gained the whole world, your hands are stained with the blood of family, sisters, and disciples—don’t you feel any guilt or sorrow?”
“Guilt? Sorrow?” A barely visible shadow of darkness flashed through Empress Wang’s hard eyes. But immediately, she lifted her chin, glancing at her with a cold smile. “Twelve years ago, I was once as naive and romantic as you, thinking that having a husband and daughter meant happiness even in poverty and illness. But unfortunately… unfortunately, people change, hearts grow old, and days must be endured one by one! When you face a desperate situation with no way to live or die, you’ll understand everything!”
After a long silence, Huang Zixia asked, “So, afterward, did you ever see Cheng Jingxiu and Xuese again?”
“No. After deciding to enter Prince Yu’s residence, I asked that sister to redeem the leaf-veined dew-drop hairpin I had pawned, sent it along with travel money to them, and told them that Mei Wanzhi was dead, they shouldn’t look for her anymore.”
Huang Zixia waited silently for her to continue, but Empress Wang seemed to have no desire to say more. She lay listlessly on her couch amid all the palace splendor, lost in memories of the past. After a long while, she lowered her eyes and smiled desolately: “Yes, from that day on, Mei Wanzhi was dead. From then on, she feared and hated the pipa, never touching it again. In this world, there is only Wang Shao, living better than anyone, residing deep in the palace in magnificent splendor. Even in death, I will die in grand halls amid silk and brocade. In this life, I have reached the heights of glory, getting exactly what I sought.”
Such a desolate tone, yet unable to hide the stubbornness within.
She didn’t want to say anything more and waved her hand slightly, gesturing for Huang Zixia to withdraw.
Just as Huang Zixia rose to leave, she heard Empress Wang say softly behind her, “Three years ago, what I said was true.”
She turned back in surprise, looking at this hard and resolute woman. And Empress Wang, at the far end of the palace hall, said quietly, “When I saw you at fourteen, walking gracefully in silver-red clothes under the spring sun, like a young cardamom flower swaying in the wind. At that moment, I suddenly thought, if Xuese were beside me, she would surely be just as beautiful.”
The night in Taiji Palace was quiet and cold.
Huang Zixia followed the path back, step by step out of this desolate palace.
The starry sky slowly shifted overhead, all the palace lanterns had been extinguished along the way, and the sound of insects echoed densely in this quiet night.
Huang Zixia looked up at the sky, gazing at the dense stars.
If each person’s fate were a star, at this moment, it seemed all destinies were just insignificant points of light. People live in this world like grass, and even if stars fall like rain across the wilderness, they are but passing gleams, leaving only a slight sigh after ten thousand years.
She walked to the Taiji Palace gate, passing through the slowly opening side door.
Under the starry sky, in the night, stood a tall, straight figure. Against the background of silent stars and moon, he watched her emerge, his expression calm. And the reflection of stars and moon in his eyes seemed disturbed by water, rippling slightly when he saw her figure.
Huang Zixia stood at the palace gate, momentarily confused.
He walked toward her, his voice still cold and distant: “What are you standing there for? Let’s go.”
“Your Highness…” Huang Zixia called out to him helplessly, looking up at his features in the starlight and moonlight, asking softly, “Have you been waiting for me?”
He didn’t answer, turning his face away: “Just passing by.”
Huang Zixia looked at the night-time Chang’an under curfew and couldn’t help but smile.
Li Shubai ignored her and turned toward the carriage.
Huang Zixia hurried after him, and after thinking, couldn’t help but ask: “What if… I mean, what if I hadn’t understood your meaning and was killed? Wouldn’t you have waited in vain?”
Without turning back, Li Shubai said: “First, Empress Wang is currently powerless and confined to the Cold Palace. How could she kill you, who exposed her identity, at this time? How would she explain it to the Emperor?”
She thought silently to herself that she had never navigated palace and court life, so of course she wouldn’t know this. Besides, if it were truly certain there was no danger, why would you push me into the water three times, why would you stand here waiting all night?
“Then… what’s second?”
“Second.” Li Shubai finally turned and glanced at her, in the quiet night, a long wind passed silently between them.
“If you couldn’t understand such hints from me, you wouldn’t be Huang Zixia.”
Huang Zixia couldn’t help but smile slightly.
Having escaped great danger, the night was gentle. She sat with Li Shubai in the carriage, heading toward Prince Kui’s residence.
The carriage’s golden bells shook gently, and in the crystal lamp hanging inside, a redfish slept quietly at the bottom of the bottle, like a flower sunken in water.
Outside the carriage window, Chang’an’s street lights slowly filtered in, then slowly passed by.
Light and shadow, deep and shallow, years flowing silently.
The light and shadows danced in the two-foot space between them as if frozen.
At this moment, at Chang’an’s city gate, Little Shi, holding Xuese’s ashes, looked up at the vast Milky Way. She tightly embraced what remained of Xuese, her only remaining ashes in this world, and wept bitterly.
A hundred li away, Chen Niangniang, who had hastily fled the capital, trudged across the windswept wilderness. She looked up at the vast road ahead, where the long sky was rich with stars—from now on she would be alone in the world, with only the pair of small jade pendants in her hand to hold onto.
Across the nine provinces and ten thousand li, under stars and moon, the quiet night buried all sound.