Withered branches and cold leaves hung from the parasol trees. Deep within the silent palace, their immense shadows looked especially desolate now that the season had stripped them bare. Skirts rustled softly as women approached in measured steps, each keeping her mouth firmly shut for fear that the slightest word might stir up trouble.
Everything outside Zichen Palace remained as usual. No one could be allowed to notice anything. If word spread that the Empress had died while the Emperor himself was not even in the palace, another wave of turmoil would surely follow.
Wang Ji’en knelt clutching at Zhao Pu’s robe, wiping his tears without end. “Chancellor, the Empress’s convulsions after the stroke were terrifying. Everyone in Zichen Palace kept watch for so long, but still…” His fear and grief were enough to make even Zhao Pu feel desolate. Zhao Pu summoned the servants of Zichen Palace one by one and questioned them. Every one of them said the Empress had suddenly gone into convulsions and had already… before the imperial physician could arrive.
“Where is Ling’er?” Zhao Pu suddenly realized that Ling’er was missing.
Wang Ji’en looked even more heartsick. “Ling’er served the Empress for many years. Last night, after seeing what happened, she could not bear it and… lost her senses. Chancellor, perhaps wait until her mind settles before questioning her. Do not frighten her again.”
Zhao Pu insisted on going.
The small courtyard where the Zichen Palace attendants lived was unnaturally quiet. Everyone else had been gathered in front of the palace, leaving Ling’er alone inside.
Zhao Pu entered the courtyard. Wang Ji’en glanced behind them and, seeing that no one had followed, hurried close and whispered, “Chancellor, there are too many people outside. This must not be spoken of carelessly. When this lowly official reached Zichen Palace yesterday, the Empress was already in a bad state, but Ling’er had been… harmed by someone.”
Zhao Pu motioned for silence and had him follow as he pushed open the door. Ling’er lay unconscious on the bed. Her long hair, usually combed neatly into place, was now tangled into a bloodstained mess. She faced the inside of the bed, her expression hidden from view.
It happened to be an utterly ordinary morning. At this hour Ling’er should have been helping the Empress wash and dress, yet now the room reeked of blood. A table had been overturned, and everything inside was in chaos.
Dried blood stained the bedding.
If death were a clear breeze.
How had everything suddenly become like this?
Zhao Pu called softly to her, but she did not wake. He had Wang Ji’en fetch clean water and wet her forehead. Wang Ji’en covered his mouth and nose, his entire expression one of avoidance. Had Zhao Pu not been standing beside him waiting for Ling’er to wake, he probably would never have touched her at all. How many things in the palace were ever clear? He had long since grown used to that. But today’s scene was too sudden, too…
Ling’er’s hands and feet suddenly jerked. Wang Ji’en flinched and the wet cloth dropped straight from his hand. Her whole body convulsed as though she had been nailed to the bed. Zhao Pu watched the sharp-tongued young woman who normally yielded to no one suddenly roll over and stiffen rigidly on the couch. The plain white cloth they had just brought happened to fall beneath her nose. Wang Ji’en cried out and stumbled back two steps, shaking his head again and again. Perhaps the violent movement when she woke had torn her wounds open once more, because a faint outline drawn in blood gradually appeared across the cloth.
The broken imprint of cherry-red lips.
Even Zhao Pu froze where he stood. “Ling’er!”
At the sound of a voice, the ghastly expression on the bed changed instantly. Ling’er, hair disheveled, desperately struggled upright and tried to hide against the inside of the bed. Wang Ji’en hurried in front of Zhao Pu. “Chancellor, she was like this yesterday too. Anyone who gets too close, she attacks. She was perfectly fine and then… became like this… Chancellor, I fear she has already gone mad.”
Zhao Pu pushed him aside and stepped closer. “Ling’er?”
Her bloodshot eyes stared with frightening intensity. After a long while, some awareness seemed to return, and then she suddenly lunged at Zhao Pu.
Wang Ji’en could no longer worry about propriety and rushed to pull her away. “Chancellor, be careful. The girl has gone mad.” He had not expected Ling’er to possess such astonishing strength. She seized Zhao Pu’s official robe and refused to let go. Fearing something might happen to the Chancellor, Wang Ji’en pulled harder, but Ling’er clung so fiercely that she was dragged straight off the bed. She tumbled and crawled across the floor in a horrifying state, the white cloth still stuck to her lips where blood had seeped through. Wang Ji’en covered his mouth and nose and let go. Zhao Pu glanced sideways at him. A man accustomed to sights like these was now nearly retching.
Ling’er wrapped both arms around Zhao Pu’s leg and only shook her head.
“Ling’er.” Zhao Pu bent down and patted her shoulder. “The Empress is gone. There must be a reason you ended up like this. What did you see last night?”
Pity and kindness were useless now. What mattered was keeping everything here from collapsing while His Majesty was away from the palace. Zhao Pu therefore remained calm to the point of coldness and asked only the most important question. “Ling’er?”
Only broken whimpers came from her, and her helplessness drove tears from her eyes. Zhao Pu tried repeatedly to soothe her. Pain still made her fingers twitch, and the convulsions running through her body left her unable to stand. She could only crawl across the floor, yet she stubbornly kept trying to reach the door.
Zhao Pu did not understand what she wanted. Wondering whether terror truly had driven her mad, he ordered Wang Ji’en to block the doorway. With nowhere else to turn, Ling’er suddenly tore the bloodied cloth from her mouth, ripping flesh with it. Even Zhao Pu recoiled. Then she spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor and, dipping into her own blood, shakily wrote two characters.
Huarui.
Wang Ji’en let out a low cry and involuntarily looked toward Huanfang Palace. Remembering at once that they could not make a commotion, he quickly silenced himself and stood to one side.
The metallic reek of blood filled the room. A narrow blade of daylight slipped through the crack in the door and lay across the two blood-written characters.
Ling’er lifted her head and looked at him in utter despair, her eyes full of blood.
Zhao Pu rose. After a long silence, he abruptly turned, took the tea that was habitually kept on the table, poured a cup, and splashed it over the floor. The bloodstains slowly faded.
Ling’er went mad, throwing herself at him and clawing at his official robe, but Wang Ji’en restrained her.
Zhao Pu looked at her and closed his eyes. After a long sigh, he leaned close to Wang Ji’en’s ear and instructed, “Treat everything that happened today as though it never occurred. Say only that the Empress passed away, and that Ling’er killed herself from excessive grief.”
Ling’er continued struggling until exhaustion overtook her and she lost consciousness again. Wang Ji’en immediately released her, afraid of getting blood on himself. “Wang Ji’en…” Zhao Pu looked at Ling’er’s wretched condition and hesitated, but in the end he still made a killing gesture. “This may look like a struggle within the rear palace, but if the Empress did not die of illness, the various forces and former-dynasty loyalists long hidden within the court will inevitably be stirred into resentment against His Majesty again. Circumstances are exceptional now and His Majesty is not in the palace, so the matter of Huarui absolutely cannot be exposed. Even after His Majesty returns, he must not be told. Follow my instructions exactly: the Empress died of illness, and Ling’er, overcome by grief, killed herself to follow her.”
He knew about Zhao Kuangyin and Yunjie as well. Yunjie was, after all, the daughter of a former dynasty’s military governor. Who could guarantee that no one still harbored resentment over what had happened with Wang Rao? Besides, Zhao Pu had another worry he could not voice.
The Prince of Jin. The Prince of Jin was anything but simple. He had asked to see the Empress several times in ways that far exceeded propriety, though no one had ever dared say much. Now the Empress had been murdered in an abandoned, neglected palace. If word of this spread, the Prince of Jin might no longer be able to remain steady.
Then they would simply say that her illness had become terminal and no medicine could save her.
Zhao Pu personally arranged everything in secret and made sure the imperial physicians were handled as well.
The Empress.
Late at night Zhao Pu lit three sticks of incense. This subject has failed. With His Majesty insisting on leaving the palace now, absolutely nothing can be allowed to go wrong. He remained kneeling for a long time and did not rise.
Within the imperial palace there had never been much that could withstand the light of day. Today a woman might become a phoenix and look down upon all beneath heaven; tomorrow perhaps she would be reduced to a trace of ash and vanish.
That was simply how it was. If there was blame, blame her for marrying into an emperor’s house. Behind one general’s success lie ten thousand bleaching bones. Among those bones, who deserved to die, and who had suffered a monstrous injustice? There had never been any way to judge. Whether Huarui lived or died did not matter, but the true cause of the Empress’s death was something that absolutely could not be spoken of carelessly.
It was only a feeling, but the Young Elder wished the days would pass a little faster.
Oil had been added to the ever-burning lamps several times. Watching the Song army close in around Jinling step by step, he finally felt some relief. No matter what happened, this grinding strain upon the mind would at least come to an end.
Li Yu had gone many days without receiving battle reports and was consumed with worry. His eyes still would not recover, and he feared letting it affect morale. Even living in seclusion inside the temple, he could not force himself to remain calm. That day Liuzhu brought another set of warmer clothes. As he ran his fingers over them, he found they were all heavy cloaks, and only then realized how much time had passed. He stepped outside to look around, Liuzhu carefully supporting him at his side.
Winter had arrived.
Winter in Jiangnan was damp and cold to the bone, but there was no snow.
Snow in the northern frontier drifted lightly through the air and brushed against one’s clothes. That was the scene he had once described, an image that now remained only in a dream.
Time had washed splendor through so many changes, yet in the end they had still come to a place like this.
He truly did feel cold. He wrapped himself in a plain white cloak embroidered with dense, intricate white thread. From afar it looked only like a sheet of mournful white, but up close the pattern revealed a pure, jade-like elegance.
Elio’s Notes: The JJWXC raw uses the word for “folding screen” here, even though the surrounding sentence is clearly describing the heavy cloak mentioned just above. FD treats this as an apparent source typo and renders the intended garment as “cloak” rather than reproducing the impossible object literally.
Liuzhu looked puzzled. “Ruler, are you going out of the temple?”
“Yes. Let us go up to Yuxiao Pavilion.”
He walked slowly, yet somehow showed none of the decline one might have expected. The green trees had withered into a bleak autumn desolation, but because he could no longer see through it, his expression remained mild. After leaving the temple, Li Yu let out a long breath and smiled faintly. “I have been shut in for so many days. Coming out for a walk truly does feel different.”
The sky was overcast, yet his smile still fell like spring blossoms in the third month, warm enough to make the heart sway. Some of Liuzhu’s sorrow eased. Even with a great army pressing down upon the city, one smile from the Ruler somehow steadied her. “Ruler, how do your eyes feel? Fortunately the clouds are thick today and the sun is not strong.”
Only then did Li Yu notice the dampness in the air. “So it is cloudy. I cannot really see that either. I feel all right for now. I can make out some blurred shapes. Do not worry.”
Liuzhu fell quiet again, then tried to comfort herself. If he could still make out shapes, his sight was not beyond all hope. There would surely be some remedy in the future.
Along the way, palace attendants looked frightened and uneasy. Even when they bowed, panic showed through. Li Yu remained calm and did not want anyone to notice anything unusual, but when they neared Yuxiao Pavilion, the attendants below the jade steps sounded almost as though they were crying. Only then did he sense something was wrong.
“Has something serious happened in the palace recently?”
Liuzhu thought the Ruler must already have some idea. Bringing it up after so many days would only add to his worry and ruin the rare good spirits he had today. She immediately signaled to the attendants on either side, and no one spoke.
“Ruler, the palace is still at peace.”
Li Yu said no more and slowly climbed the pavilion. He had walked every one of these palace steps since childhood, so despite the difficulty now, there was nothing visibly strange in the way he moved. Liuzhu merely supported his arm lightly. At the top they reached a broad platform overlooking all of Jinling. Yuxiao Pavilion was the highest point in the entire city. Had his eyes still been as they once were, the view would have opened before him for a thousand li across Jiangnan.
This platform was also where, on the day he ascended the throne and the day Nüying was invested, the people had gathered to offer their congratulations. Now sorrow finally touched Li Yu’s face. “It is only a pity… I cannot see it clearly anymore.”
Liuzhu had only heard rumors from outside the palace. Now, after suddenly following him up Yuxiao Pavilion and seeing the land around Jinling for herself, she sucked in a sharp breath.
The hand supporting his arm began to tremble uncontrollably.
Li Yu’s empty eyes were so pale they were almost amber. He looked directly at Liuzhu, then suddenly caught the smell of beacon fires and blood coming from all directions.
Could it be an illusion? When a person lost his sight and shut himself inside the same small space day after day, he began to doubt every other sense as well. Li Yu often wondered whether some of what he felt was merely hallucination.
Or perhaps only now was the true dream.
Zhuang Zhou dreamed of a butterfly. Was the butterfly me, or was I the butterfly? The dream has lasted until today, and now butterfly and self can no longer be distinguished.
Elio’s Notes: This invokes Zhuang Zhou’s famous butterfly dream from the Zhuangzi, in which he wakes unsure whether he had dreamed of being a butterfly or whether a butterfly was dreaming of being him. Here the image echoes Li Yu’s uncertainty over where dream ends and waking reality begins.
“Liuzhu, what do you see?” His voice suddenly dropped, frightening her even more. She looked around. Nearly all the outskirts beyond Jinling were choked with rolling black smoke. Unless the battlefield had already shifted to the very walls of Jinling, it could never look like this. Shocked, Liuzhu lost her composure and stood frozen, trembling.
Li Yu suddenly turned his hand over and gripped Liuzhu’s wrist tightly. His bony fingers pressed painfully into her. Liuzhu could not help saying, “Ruler… Ruler, perhaps it would be better if you did not… see clearly.”
Li Yu released her and lifted his head, walking straight forward. When a person could not see clearly, his path would always wind and bend far more than he imagined; in darkness, one’s steps could never form a perfect straight line. Human life was much the same. Blindness made people stray from the course in their hearts, yet Liuzhu watched him advance without the slightest deviation.
His heart was indeed extraordinarily still and clear. His inner sight was not blind, and the strength within him was something no one had ever truly understood.
A violent wind rose from the flat earth. The high pavilion was bitterly cold. His pure-white robes snapped in the wind as he walked into it, one hand resting on the golden railing while he quietly closed his eyes.
Everything smelled of blood.
His brows drew together.
Cries of suffering filled the land.
When the body was cold, clothes could still shield it. But what was one to do when the heart itself went cold? Li Yu suddenly realized that he was afraid. The feeling of carrying too many lives upon himself was terrifying.
So he had never truly been an immortal after all. An immortal, worshiped by all living beings, should long ago have grown indifferent to life and death, which were never his to command. He could not do it. Especially when the wind was filled with the clash of steel.
Each sound, one after another, seemed to hack into Jiangnan’s graceful bones. This land should never have suffered such a calamity. Was it, in the end, his fault?
Behind him Liuzhu called softly, “Ruler…”
He looked back through the wind, seeing nothing but indistinct shadows. “The army is at the city gates. Isn’t it?”
Liuzhu nodded, then after a moment remembered he could not see her. “Yes.”
“Help me back to the temple.”
In the battle on the Yangtze, the Tang forces had sought a swift victory. Recklessly, they set fires in hopes that the favorable wind would carry the flames into the Song fleet. Instead, as though Heaven itself opposed them, the wind abruptly changed. In an instant the river wind drove every flame back. Dozens of small burning boats, pushed by the gale, slid toward the Tang fleet like dozens of blazing heaps of fire.
The Tang fleet’s thousand vessels were packed tightly together. There was no room to maneuver. As soon as the flames reached them, panic broke out and dozens of fires struck the fleet head-on.
What did it look like when flames towered over the river?
What did it look like when thousands upon thousands of soldiers fought for their lives by leaping together into the surging water?
Li Yu could not see it, yet he could almost imagine it. If Zhao Kuangyin had already brought his army to the gates of Jinling, then along that entire road, through countless passes, even with Tang weakened and militarily inferior, it could never have been as easy as a few words on paper. He had no idea how great the sacrifice had truly been.
On the way back to Guangliang Temple, they happened to pass the little bridge in the garden.
He had been thinking the entire way.
At last his steps could no longer hold steady.
He suddenly caught the white-jade bridge railing and bent forward. Liuzhu’s expression changed. “Ruler?”