Dark clouds gathered over the mountains of Shu, heralding an impending storm. Suddenly, a fierce gust of wind burst open the windows, violently rattling the frames with sharp, staccato sounds. The inkstone and paperweights on the desk were swept to the floor. Unanchored papers swirled in the air, scattering everywhere. Beneath the table lay a chaotic mess, with several torn halves of imperial memorials strewn about.
The air was thick with the pungent smell of blood. Four or five young women in palace attire lay on the floor, in a pool of crimson, their bodies sprawled at odd angles. One was still clinging to life, her once-beautiful eyes half-open, lips moving weakly, foamy blood bubbling at the corners of her mouth. She looked like a dying fish struggling in bloody water.
These women were all consorts of Emperor Liu Yan of the Later Han. The youngest, Lady Liu, was merely thirteen. Her father was the Governor of Tianshui, and she had been hastily married to the emperor less than six months ago when he retreated to Chencang. With Chencang’s fall, they fled here to Baocheng in Shu.
But now, these vibrant, beautiful young women lay dead.
Moments earlier, Liu Yan had summoned these women and watched as his eunuch, Liu Shan, slaughtered them.
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty! Please spare me! My father will bring reinforcements to protect you! Your Majesty—” Lady Liu cried out, her face spattered with blood, tears falling like broken strings of pearls down her still childlike, terrified face. The goose-yellow palace robe on her chest was stained a vivid, eye-searing orange from the blood flowing from her neck.
Liu Shan had already struck her neck once with his blade, but perhaps dulled from too much killing, it had only grazed her as she struggled to avoid it. The wound on her neck was not yet fatal. She had fallen to the ground, her head tilted awkwardly, blood gushing from her neck as she crawled forward on hands and knees, desperate to escape this room filled with the heavy stench of blood and the cold presence of death.
Behind her, a winding trail of blood marked her desperate attempt to flee.
Though handsome, Emperor Liu Yan’s face was as expressionless as a clay statue. His eyes didn’t focus on the pleading Lady Liu but gazed vacantly towards the distant city gates he couldn’t see.
Baocheng, too, had fallen. It was lost.
In his mind, he could already hear the thunderous cheers of the rebel Yan soldiers as they breached the city. Soon, they would be here.
Two years ago, Wei Shao, the warlord who had long held sway over the northern regions of Yan and You, had defeated Xing Xun, who had declared himself emperor in Luoyang. With Luoyang in his grasp, eight or nine-tenths of the realm fell under his control. The tide had turned decisively. Wei the Usurper promptly declared himself emperor in Youzhou, naming his state Yan. Subsequently, Emperor Liu Yan of the Later Han was forced to begin his long retreat westward.
Throughout this protracted westward flight, his civil officials had gradually fled or dispersed, his military commanders had either perished or surrendered. By the time they reached Baocheng, only a dozen or so old ministers loyal to the Han remained, desperately clinging to protect him.
Now, even the last two thousand soldiers were gone.
He had nowhere left to run.
Liu Shan, his face splattered with blood and looking like a fierce demon, gritted his teeth and advanced on the still-pleading Lady Liu. Cornering her at the doorway, he brought his blade down from behind.
With a dull thud, the girl didn’t even have time to scream. Her head lolled to the side at an unnatural angle, still attached but nearly severed. Her soft body crumpled to the ground like an empty sack.
Hot blood sprayed uncontrollably from her severed arteries, covering half the wall. Lady Liu’s limbs twitched briefly, then fell still. Only her eye, visible through her disheveled hair, remained fixed on the opposite wall, the spark of life rapidly fading, replaced by the dull, dark blue of death.
“Your Majesty, the Empress…” Liu Shan said, dragging his blood-drenched blade with its now-curled edge toward the slightly trembling Xiao Qiao on the couch.
Liu Yan turned slowly, his unfocused gaze falling on Xiao Qiao. As he looked at her, his eyes finally lost their wooden expression, gradually filling with sorrow, reluctance, and profound pain.
He walked towards Xiao Qiao step by step, finally standing before her. His cold fingers gently caressed her face with longing before he suddenly pulled her into a tight embrace. He held her so fiercely it seemed he wanted to crush her, to embed her into his very flesh and blood.
“Manman! Manman! Your family was slaughtered by Wei the Usurper, and your sister was deposed and killed by him as well. I know you hate that traitor to your very core. I had hoped to avenge you, to raise an army against the rebels, but alas, the Han Dynasty’s fate is sealed, and I am powerless to change it! I cannot bear to let you fall into the hands of those traitors and suffer humiliation. Manman, I will kill you first, then follow you. Let us be husband and wife again in our next life!”
“Your Majesty, I became your wife at fifteen. You have treated me with deep affection and great kindness. If you are to die, how could I bear to live on alone? I am willing to follow you, life after life, never to be parted!” The woman nicknamed Manman was of fair skin and exquisite beauty, with a flawless, jade-like face. Though now drained of color and stained with tears, her gaze at the emperor was filled with determination and resolve.
She gently pushed Liu Yan away and stood up on her own, slowly closing her eyes and tilting her chin slightly upward. At that moment, with the wind whipping at her clothes and sashes dancing wildly, she looked as if she might float away.
Liu Yan wept bitterly. He released her and suddenly stood up, drawing his sword with a sharp metallic sound.
“Ah—” With Liu Yan’s heart-wrenching, agonized cry, the cold blade plunged deep into her warm, soft chest.