The weather grew colder and colder, and Liu Kan’s health deteriorated further. He often couldn’t sleep entire nights, and his complexion rapidly turned ashen. By the end of that year, the palace held continuous banquets. Liu Kan missed several, and when he finally managed to get out of bed one day, he ignored Wang Yan’s dissuasion and forced himself to appear at a banquet despite his illness.

Wang Yan could understand Liu Kan’s stubborn pride. After all, he was ruler of a nation, and now he didn’t even have the strength to attend court, let alone the fact that palace banquets were being hosted by her father on his behalf.

Her great-aunt, the Grand Empress Dowager, had long ceased attending any palace banquets due to her advanced age, while Empress Dowager Fu, having failed in her power struggle, remained secluded in the rear palace.

Wang Yan herself also rarely appeared at such occasions, frequently caring for Liu Kan. Actually, in the Han Dynasty, women held considerable power—even if she wanted to interfere in government affairs and attend court sessions, it was achievable, let alone participating in such a banquet. Wang Yan ultimately remained worried and, after changing into ceremonial dress, accompanied Liu Kan to the banquet.

Her father remained as refined and elegant as always, humble and courteous, even proactively standing to toast Liu Kan with earnest sincerity…

Everyone in the hall focused their gaze on the young emperor sitting in the highest position, yet no one stood to say that the emperor’s health wasn’t suitable for drinking.

Wang Yan sat at Liu Kan’s right side, knowing the heavy ceremonial robes were nearly crushing his body. Watching his weak hands holding the wine cup trembling continuously, she suddenly remembered for some reason that beautiful butterfly struggling desperately in the spider web on a summer afternoon many years ago.

Wang Yan gracefully stood and walked to Liu Kan’s side. Meeting the surprised gazes of the full court of civil and military officials, she very naturally took the wine cup from Liu Kan’s hands and smiled tranquilly, “Father, the emperor’s health is poor. Let this subject take this cup for him.” Having spoken, she tilted her head back and drained it completely.

The wine cup made a subtle crisp sound as it was placed on the table. Wang Yan’s already clear and beautiful face, stimulated by the alcohol, flushed red on both cheeks like the finest rouge. She looked at her impassive father below the steps, then at Liu Kan beside her, whose eyes sparkled with indescribable joy, knowing her choice today was correct.

Everyone present knew this wine couldn’t be poisoned. If her father wanted Liu Kan dead, he would never use such a clumsy method that would leave him open to criticism. Her father probably just wanted to give the struggling Liu Kan a warning—drinking a cup of wine could make the unwell Liu Kan suffer for several days, but he would still have to pinch his nose and endure the humiliation of drinking it. Having learned this lesson, Liu Kan should obediently lie in his sleeping chambers and stop thinking about appearing before the officials.

But she had resolved his predicament, even at the risk of opposing her father. For the first time, she had declared her position before the gaze of the full court.

Wang Yan lowered her eyes and smiled self-mockingly. He was her father—how could she possibly abandon him?

The banquet ended in a strange atmosphere. Back in her sleeping chamber, Wang Yan sat before a bronze mirror removing hairpins from her hair while pondering whether she should post notices seeking famous physicians throughout the realm. After all, the Imperial Physician in this palace might well be her father’s subordinate—what if Liu Kan’s illness had been misdiagnosed…

Worry leads to confusion.

Wang Yan looked at the shattered purple crystal carved hairpin on the ground, feeling bewildered for the first time.

Defying your father—you are truly unfilial. The Xiezhi’s mocking voice came from the soft couch. Though it clearly hadn’t left this sleeping chamber, it seemed to have witnessed everything firsthand.

If she was unfilial, then wasn’t she no longer a truly good person? Yet why could she still see the Xiezhi? Wang Yan had grown accustomed to treating the Xiezhi as nonexistent, but couldn’t help mentally refuting this.

Good and evil are not so easily distinguished. The Xiezhi blinked its black pupils and continued quietly, One person’s good can be evil to others.

Wang Yan’s heart was sharply stabbed. She suddenly remembered that her second and eldest brothers had both been mercilessly driven to death by her father—he could be heartless even toward his own sons…

As if cursed, just as the Xiezhi’s words fell, cries of alarm came from the main hall. Such commotion had become common in Weiyang Palace—Liu Kan had surely fainted again.

However, this time the disturbance seemed greater, with faint sounds of palace maids weeping.

As if she already had some premonition, Wang Yan bent to pick up the purple crystal carved hairpin shattered into several pieces on the ground, her heart dead as ash.

On the bingwu day of the twelfth month in the fifth year of Yuanshi, Liu Kan died at Weiyang Palace due to a relapse of his illness, aged fifteen years, posthumously titled Emperor Xiaoping.

The flower called love in Wang Yan’s heart was ruthlessly destroyed by fate just as it had budded, quickly withering into ash.

She became Empress Dowager at only fifteen, but this time the one ascending the throne was not her son, but a two-year-old child her father had selected from the Liu clan.

Wang Yan felt she should be grateful. If her father had previously chosen a young child as emperor, she wouldn’t have been able to marry Liu Kan. Though only three short years, she felt those were the happiest three years of her life.

Despite her supremely exalted status, Wang Yan chose not to interfere in government affairs. She knew she indeed had a kind heart, but she also had self-awareness. Sometimes having a kind heart didn’t necessarily mean the good deeds one did were good for others. That phrase the Xiezhi always had on its lips wasn’t groundless. She coldly watched her father, after enduring three years, finally unable to restrain himself from deposing that child emperor and taking his place.

Granted the title of Huang Imperial Princess by her guilt-ridden father, she sealed her palace doors, keeping only a few palace maids to serve her, no longer seeing anyone, living a secluded life.

Actually, her life wasn’t too boring. When the Xiezhi was bored, it would chat with her and tell stories.

Legend said that when Liu Bang of Han killed the white python in rebellion, that white python was also a spiritual creature that spoke human words, saying Liu Bang would eventually face retribution. If he cut off its head, it would usurp Han’s beginning; if he cut off its tail, it would usurp Han’s end. But Liu Bang’s sword cut the white python in half, so the Han Dynasty would surely have problems in its middle period.

Wang Yan didn’t treat the Xiezhi’s idle talk as casual conversation. She also knew her father’s foundation for usurping Han was unstable—sooner or later, power would be reclaimed by Liu descendants.

In fact, Wang Yan knew that though her father had ambition, whether from habitual false goodness, her father genuinely wanted to do good. Her father attempted to restore the ritual state whose rites and music had collapsed by reviving the Zhou ritual system of ancient Western Zhou times. Thus his new policies completely imitated Zhou Dynasty institutions.

But the ritual system had already been abandoned. Emperor Qin Shihuang’s legal system and Emperor Wu’s Confucian system could both unify the realm. Her father was falsely good to the extreme, yet completely unaware that implementing the ritual system would bring great harm to court, countryside, and common people. It was like releasing a land turtle by setting it free in water—well-intentioned but doing evil.

Wang Yan coldly watched her father walk toward a dead end, knowing that no matter what she said, she couldn’t dissuade him.

Time didn’t last too long. When rebel armies overthrew the Xin Dynasty and broke into Weiyang Palace, setting the palace ablaze, the Xiezhi stood atop a bronze crane before the hall, watching Wang Yan walk toward the sea of fire without looking back.

Do you regret it? The Xiezhi’s deep black pupils reflected the roaring flames. Wang Yan was now in a woman’s prime years. The first dozen-plus years of her life were spent in hardship and cold neglect, while the subsequent dozen-plus years, though in the most luxurious palace, were still lonely and desolate.

Wang Yan’s steps didn’t pause. Regret?

Perhaps if she had chosen to stand by Liu Kan’s side earlier, it might have brought earlier disaster to Liu Kan, but she still didn’t regret her choice that year.

Though she couldn’t distinguish what was good and evil in this world, if she returned to that summer afternoon years ago, even if given another chance to choose, she would still save the butterfly. Because its dying struggle made her unable to remain unmoved, even though she should have stood on the spider’s side. Unfortunately, her ability could only save a tiny butterfly for a moment…

Wang Yan’s graceful figure was quickly swallowed by flames. The Xiezhi stared at that sea of fire, falling into prolonged silence.

In its such long life, many people couldn’t see it, some could see it, and some went from being able to see it to being unable to. But never had anyone like Wang Yan made it watch her departure.

Following one’s true heart is the ultimate good.

Had this woman maintained a truly good heart from birth to death?

The Xiezhi nimbly jumped down from the tall bronze crane. This world had lost another person who could see it.

With a shake of its body, it easily found the dust-covered Xiezhi crown in a corner of the storehouse. It yawned lazily, rolled back into the crown, and fell into long slumber…

2013 CE

“Eh? So you’re saying the youth we just saw was Emperor Ping of Han, Liu Kan?” The doctor lay on Mute House’s yellow rosewood reclining chair, browsing web pages on his phone to research, “Wang Mang usurped Han, and some say Wang Mang was the reincarnation of the white python Liu Bang killed, hence named Mang. When Liu Bang killed the white python in rebellion, he cut it in half, and Western and Eastern Han each lasted exactly two hundred years. My goodness, so magical. That white python wouldn’t be related to Bai Lu, would it…”

Lu Zigan didn’t notice the doctor’s rambling. He was also researching.

Body like a sheep, head like a qilin, single horn on the forehead… That was a Xiezhi?! And why had he clearly seen nothing while the doctor could see it? Could the legend that only truly good people could see the Xiezhi be true?

Lu Zigan smiled. What truly good—it probably meant pure-hearted fools and idiots, right? That quite fit the doctor’s personality. Moreover, unicorn legends existed in both East and West with surprising consistency—unicorns could all distinguish right from wrong, good from evil, and favored pure-hearted maidens.

However, only fools in this world would be truly good without selfish motives, right?

His selfish motives…

Lu Zigan clenched the object in his palm. If the doctor looked his way, he would find it very familiar.

Because it was exactly what he had worn for twenty-four years.

The white jade longevity lock already inlaid with gold thread.