This letter was sent from Chang’an in June. The sender perhaps did not want to make a big fuss and therefore didn’t use the official military communication channels—instead, it was sent along with ordinary civilian mail. However, the Rongzhou region was preparing for war, and there had been frequent skirmishes along the border in recent months, making mail delivery difficult. As a result, the letter was delayed until November before it reached Xiao Jingduo’s hands.
There was no signature on the letter. It appeared very plain and unremarkable, and the content inside was even more cryptic.
“Prevent disaster beforehand so that there will be no harm or grief afterward. Know and act with caution; the noble man does not stand under a crumbling wall—how could such things be taken lightly?”
These were words from the Analects, and Xiao Jingduo naturally recognized them. He flipped the letter over and saw another line written on the back.
“A general must understand balance—he plans strategies in the command tent but secures victory a thousand miles away. If you personally chase the enemy and another ambush has been ordered elsewhere, what will you do if the city ends up besieged?”
Of course Xiao Jingduo had considered this issue. Although he had made many deployments before leaving the city, there was no one left in charge within the city. If another army had taken a different route and surrounded the city, they would have been trapped in a desperate situation—without reinforcements and with no route for retreat. But the situation had been critical at the time, and Xiao Jingduo had no choice but to take a risk and gamble that Shilang Zhao didn’t have the strength to dispatch another force.
As it turned out, he had gambled correctly. But someone else clearly didn’t think so. It seemed she believed that quoting the Analects alone wouldn’t be enough for Xiao Jingduo to understand, so she couldn’t help but add an extra line when mailing the letter. From the ink, it was clear that the last line had been written as an afterthought.
Xiao Jingduo felt both amused and helpless. He knew this handwriting all too well, and naturally recognized at a glance who the sender was. But Rong Ke had a point—leaving the city to launch a surprise attack while enemy troops approached may have led to victory through unorthodox means, yet as a leader, it was still a poor decision. So Xiao Jingduo accepted the rebuke. He actually felt more sympathy for Rong Ke, who had gone through the trouble of writing a letter, and even worried he might not understand it—so she added a follow-up explanation just in case.
While Xiao Jingduo was reading the letter inside the room, the others were growing increasingly anxious. One of the people waiting outside had already paced in circles twice and finally couldn’t help but ask, “The county magistrate still hasn’t come out? What kind of letter takes this long to read? If he doesn’t come out soon, he’s going to miss the event at the military camp.”
Recently, there had been constant skirmishes along the border between Jiannan and Nanzhao. Just a few days ago, a small-scale battle had ended. Jiannan Dao had stationed many troops along the border, and the court had been applying continuous pressure on Nanzhao. Finally, in the past few days, Nanzhao had been forced into submission. They formally admitted fault to Xuan Dynasty and pledged to strictly restrain their people and cease any further harassment along the Jiannan border.
People interact based on their rank and position. As a grand and powerful nation, the Xuan Dynasty would never lower itself to dealing with minor tribal factions within Nanzhao. The court directly negotiated with the royal family of Nanzhao regarding the recent “incidents.” With the royal family now brought to heel, they would naturally take charge of managing their internal affairs.
These past few days, with the royal family of Nanzhao finally bowing their heads, all the border cities had been celebrating. Jinjiang County had participated in several of the battles, both large and small, and shared in the glory of the outcome. The whole city was jubilant. Today’s victory banquet in the city was to celebrate this major triumph.
As the county magistrate, Xiao Jingduo naturally had to attend. But with the banquet fast approaching and him still shut in his room, how could those under him not be anxious?
“What should we do? The military camp has already sent people urging us,” the registrar said nervously.
Even the deputy magistrate had no solution and hesitantly suggested, “Sh-should we knock and remind the county magistrate?”
“The county magistrate clearly said not to disturb him.” The registrar hesitated slightly. He had worked under Xiao Jingduo for four years and knew his temperament very well—he didn’t dare provoke Xiao Jingduo’s anger. The registrar grumbled, “What a senseless disaster. The county magistrate was already dressed and about to head out, and then some clueless person handed him a letter. The moment he saw the handwriting, he threw out a ‘Don’t disturb me’ and turned right back around. It’s enough to drive someone mad.”
The assistant magistrate speculated, “I heard it was a letter from Chang’an. Maybe something happened in the magistrate’s family.”
“That’s all the more reason not to disturb him right now. If we get caught in the crossfire and he takes it out on us, it’ll be terribly unfair.”
Both the assistant magistrate and the registrar feared that something bad had happened in Xiao Jingduo’s family, but time was tight, and they couldn’t afford to delay any longer. In the end, the assistant magistrate gritted his teeth and said, “We have no choice—we’ll just have to risk being rude.” He gathered his courage and knocked on the door with a bent knuckle. “County magistrate, the people outside have urged several times already. It’s time for us to leave.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the door opened from within. Xiao Jingduo, fully dressed and composed, stepped out lightly from the room. “Let’s go.”
The registrar and assistant magistrate were both momentarily stunned. When Xiao Jingduo saw they hadn’t followed, he glanced back and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing, nothing at all.” The two men laughed awkwardly and quickly followed him. From the look of it, the county magistrate seemed to be in a good mood—it didn’t seem like anything bad had happened at home. So what on earth had that letter said?
They puzzled over this all the way to the victory banquet but came up with no answer. Once they arrived, a steady stream of people came to toast and congratulate them. The registrar was soon caught up in the celebratory flattery and forgot all about the letter.
As the county magistrate, Xiao Jingduo was naturally the center of attention at the banquet. Countless people wanted to take the opportunity to curry favor with him. Xiao Jingduo had never been fond of socializing, but in officialdom, a man is not free to act as he pleases. He had no choice but to brace himself and deal with the guests one by one.
Shu (Sichuan) was far from the Central Plains, and social etiquette was far less rigid here—gender separation was not strictly observed. Before long, a bold young woman from Shu came up to toast Xiao Jingduo.
“Lord Xiao,” she said, “you are young, talented, and accomplished in both civil and military matters. I greatly admire you—please allow me to toast you with this cup.”
Xiao Jingduo’s smile stiffened. His eyes flicked around and caught sight of his colleagues—some pretending not to notice with ears perked, others acting tipsy with their heads propped on their hands, sneaking glances with expressions of amusement.
The girl’s companions stood not far away, craning their necks in their direction. Whatever they were saying had them all giggling and whispering excitedly.
Caught in the center of their gaze, Xiao Jingduo sighed inwardly. He understood perfectly well the meaning behind this gesture—it wasn’t really about the wine. But with so many eyes on him, refusing the drink would be awkward, yet accepting it would be even more so. Without hesitating for long, he raised his cup.
The moment he moved, the girl’s eyes lit up, and a soft gasp of excitement rose from her group of friends.
Xiao Jingduo lifted the cup in front of him, but made no move to clink it with hers. His expression remained composed and courteous as he looked at the girl and said, “As the magistrate of Jinjiang County, fulfilling my duties is simply part of my role—there’s no need for thanks. It’s not proper for a young lady to drink. I’ll drink this cup on your behalf.”
Before the girl could react, Xiao Jingduo downed the wine in one gulp. The assistant beside him, feeling like he’d never been this sharp in his life, immediately stepped forward with a grin and refilled the county magistrate’s cup.
Xiao Jingduo set down his wine cup and gestured politely to the young woman. “Women have delicate constitutions—it’s not suitable for you to drink. There’s no need for you to finish this cup. It’s getting dark, and walking may be difficult. Be careful of your footing. Li Si, escort this young lady back to her seat.”
The girl who had offered the toast left, looking a little disappointed. As soon as she returned, her companions gathered around to ask what the county magistrate had said. When they heard that Xiao Jingduo had simply responded that he was just fulfilling his duty as a local official, they all let out a collective sigh of disappointment.
These young women had toasted him because of who he was, but Xiao Jingduo responded only from the standpoint of his role as magistrate—how could that not make them feel disheartened?
Having witnessed this failed attempt, the other girls who had been itching to try their luck now hesitated. Still, girls from this borderland region were bold by nature. Just from their gazes, one could tell they hadn’t completely given up on trying. Meanwhile, Xiao Jingduo’s colleagues and the soldiers around him were watching with amused, teasing expressions. Xiao Jingduo let out a silent sigh and quietly slipped away from the banquet.
Leaving behind the noisy celebration, he stepped into the cool, damp winter air of Shu. For a moment, he didn’t know where to go. He wandered aimlessly down the long street until he heard the soft sound of footsteps behind him.
Judging by the sound, it seemed to be a woman. Xiao Jingduo turned and saw Chen Ci holding a lantern, standing on the dimly lit bluestone road.
“Miss Chen, what brings you out here?”
“I saw you leave the banquet and couldn’t suppress my curiosity, so I followed,” Chen Ci said as she slowly approached. The warm candlelight lit up her face, making her smile look especially gentle and soft. “I was wondering what was so alluring out here that could draw Lord Xiao away from the lively banquet, away from all those beautiful young women, to come out here and face the cold wind instead.”
There was clearly a teasing undertone in her words. Xiao Jingduo smiled and replied, “It was too noisy inside, so I came out to enjoy a bit of peace and quiet. But I didn’t expect Miss Chen to discover me.”
Chen Ci simply smiled without responding. She walked to Xiao Jingduo’s side and accompanied him as he strolled slowly down the street.
“Lord Xiao,” she said, “there’s something I’ve long been curious about but never found the chance to ask. You have neither wife nor concubine, and no engagement at home. So why have you consistently rejected the women who show interest in you?”
Her question was rather blunt, and Xiao Jingduo didn’t want to answer. Chen Ci clearly hadn’t expected him to, because she continued speaking:
“To be admired by so many women—any other man would see that as something to boast about. But whenever you notice it, you always calmly deflect it. I used to think perhaps you just weren’t interested in such things. But lately, I’ve begun to feel that’s not the case.”
Neither of them spoke after that, and only the sound of the wind rustling through the trees could be heard. In the southern part of Shu, it never snowed, so even in winter the trees remained lush and green, tinged with the dusky shades of twilight. The wind here wasn’t as biting as in the north. Even in the heart of winter, it carried a damp, misty moisture. As it passed through the treetops, it made a soft rustling sound.
Amidst the wind, Chen Ci’s voice quietly rose:
“What kind of person… is she?”
Over the years, Chen Ci had lived in the county office with Xiao Jingduo. Although they didn’t see each other daily, they interacted fairly often. As time passed, she gradually began to understand some things—like how Xiao Jingduo always kept a deliberate distance from women. Many girls had been heartbroken over it in secret. The women at the embroidery workshop cared greatly about his affairs, and many believed that with Xiao Jingduo’s status and looks, it would be all too easy for him to take a wife or concubine. Few women would turn him down. But Xiao Jingduo never did so, and instead, behaved more coldly than a woman might.
Quite a few women claimed that Xiao Jingduo simply hadn’t yet “awakened,” that he was a young man who didn’t understand love and thus avoided it out of inexperience. But Chen Ci didn’t think that was the reason.
Over the years, every September, Xiao Jingduo would collect many jade artifacts. He rarely took them out to admire or play with, clearly not collecting them for his own enjoyment. And based on what Qiuju had described, these items weren’t meant for siblings or relatives either—after all, Xiao Jingduo’s relationship with his family was clearly very distant.
Chen Ci thought back to three years ago, when he had, for once, delayed his official duties just to have Qiuju and the others hurry to finish a few round fans. Later, that box disappeared without a trace. No one knew where it went. At the time, Chen Ci hadn’t thought much of it, but in the years since, she had slowly and bitterly come to realize—perhaps she knew the answer now.
Love between a man and a woman is something that must come willingly. Chen Ci didn’t wish to force anything. She only wanted to know: what kind of person was the one he had in his heart?
Xiao Jingduo hadn’t expected Chen Ci to pierce the veil like this at such a moment. He stopped walking and silently stared at the sparse stars in the sky.
What kind of person was she?
Xiao Jingduo found it hard to say. He only knew that they had known each other for more than ten years, and the longer they interacted, the more vivid her image became. In the end, she had become a color in his heart that could never be erased.
He didn’t know how long he stood there in the cold wind. By the time he came back to himself, the space beside him was empty—Chen Ci had quietly slipped away at some point.
Xiao Jingduo lifted his head to gaze at the stars, silently wondering to himself: Right now… what is Rong Ke doing?
In November, the southwestern wind still carried a soft, moist warmth. But by the time it crossed the Qinling Mountains, swept over the land of Guanzhong, and passed through the towering gates of Chang’an into the palace city along Zhuque Avenue, it had already turned as sharp as a blade.
It had snowed a few days prior. At night, the Taiji Palace was silent and pristine, like an immortal’s dwelling. A pair of fine deerskin boots stepped over the scattered snow on the palace path—by the end, they were nearly running.
A eunuch was pacing anxiously at the palace entrance. When he saw the person arrive, he quickly hurried forward, bowed deeply, and called out with both urgency and relief, “Your Highness, you’re finally here!”
Rong Ke loosened the tie around her neck and handed her heavy fox-fur cloak to the palace attendants. She didn’t even brush the snow off her hair before striding quickly into the hall. “Why was a message suddenly sent for me? How is Father doing?”
The eunuch sighed. “Your Highness, please come with me.”
Worry surged through Rong Ke’s heart. To summon her so urgently on a snowy night—could it be that her father’s illness had worsened to this extent?
She walked quickly into the grand hall. The emperor’s sleeping quarters were built both high and deep. Her footsteps echoed rhythmically across the tiled floor.
The inner chamber was just ahead. Through the curtain, Rong Ke could see a thin figure leaning against the bedpost, covering his mouth and coughing softly.
Her heart clenched with pain. She rushed forward, nearly running in her concern. “Father, are you alright?”
Rong Mingzhe was trying to suppress his cough. When he heard his daughter’s voice, he swallowed down the metallic taste in his throat and greeted her with a warm and gentle smile. “Is it snowing hard outside? You didn’t freeze on the road, did you?”
Rong Ke knelt by the bedside and reached out to touch his hand—her brow furrowed immediately. “Why is your hand so cold?”
The eunuch serving nearby quickly bowed and said, “It’s my fault, Your Highness.”
“It’s not their fault,” Rong Mingzhe shook his head. His face was pale, lips drained of color—he looked terribly weak. “Ke Ke… I have a feeling that your father might not be able to stay with you much longer.”
“Father…” Rong Ke felt a sudden sting in her eyes, but she forced herself to stay composed and said firmly, “You’ll be fine. I’ll go summon the Imperial Medical Bureau right away. You just need to rest. You will recover.”
“I know my own body. It’s no use.” Rong Mingzhe covered his mouth and coughed again, then continued, “I once thought I’d be able to watch you get married, to watch your younger brother grow up, and to protect the two of you, brother and sister, for a long time. But in the end… I’m going to break that promise.”
“On the day your grandfather passed, he solemnly entrusted the empire to me. He told me to be a wise and virtuous ruler, not to let down the blood and sweat our Rong clan shed to win this land. I vowed I would guard this country well and never betray the trust of our ancestors. But life is ruled by Heaven—Heaven has not granted me the chance to fulfill my aspirations.”
“According to the vow I swore before the ancestral tablets, I should now pass the throne to one of your uncles. Third Prince Mingli is open-hearted and good at accepting counsel. Fourth Prince, though cold in temperament, is principled and would also make a wise sovereign.”
Rong Mingzhe spoke slowly and gently. Even in this moment, he still appeared calm and dignified. His sudden illness had not dimmed the aura he carried as the former Crown Prince; instead, it seemed to deepen his presence with the weight of years. But then his tone suddenly shifted, revealing the sharp edge of an emperor:
“Yet in the end, I am not a saint. I cannot bring myself to hand over this empire to men of talent. Instead, I want my own bloodline to forever occupy the summit of power. When I one day meet my father in the afterlife, I fear he will be angry with me once again.”
Rong Ke had been listening quietly all along. When she heard this, she tightened her grip on Rong Mingzhe’s hand and softly called out, “Father…”
The smile on Rong Mingzhe’s face slowly faded. His expression became solemn.
“Rong Ke, you’ve read the histories since you were a child. Tell me: if the ruler is young and the ministers strong, and the royal uncles are in their prime, what happens next?”
Rong Mingzhe only ever called her “Rong Ke” when he was angry—but this time, she understood. He wasn’t angry. He called her by her full name because it was not her father speaking now, but the emperor.
“A child-emperor ascends the throne. Either the empress dowager takes over, and her relatives grow too powerful, or the royal uncles act as regents. The young emperor is weak, the uncles are strong—and once the time comes to return power, a struggle between emperor and regent is inevitable.”
“Exactly. Every dynasty changes, and not one has escaped this curse.” Rong Mingzhe gave a bitter smile, then looked deeply at Rong Ke. “But Rong Lang is only eight years old. Heaven doesn’t always grant our wishes. So what can we do?”
Rong Mingzhe understood all too well—don’t be fooled by how virtuous Prince Liang and Prince Qi appeared now, how kind they seemed to Rong Ke and Rong Lang. All of that depended on him still being alive. If he were no longer there to hold them back, could Prince Liang and Prince Qi truly resist reaching for the throne?
As for the empress—there was even less to say. Lady Xia had a gentle and warm temperament, and she managed the inner palace with kindness and care. But if she were to sit behind the curtain and govern as regent, that very gentleness would become a disaster.
No matter what, the empire must bear the name Rong. The throne could only be occupied by a descendant of Rong Mingzhe.
Rong Lang was the rightful crown prince. There was no debate about passing the throne to him. The true difficulty lay in choosing the person who would act as regent. This person had to possess both the ability to govern a nation and an unshakable loyalty.
Rong Mingzhe trusted neither his royal brothers, nor the old ministers who had followed him in war, nor even his empress.
Only his daughter—his own flesh and blood, the cherished jewel he had raised with his own hands—was worthy of being entrusted with the most precious power in the world, without hesitation or reservation.
Even if, in the future, Rong Ke gained power and changed her nature—unwilling to return imperial authority to Rong Lang—she was still his own blood. To Rong Mingzhe, that made no difference.
Rong Mingzhe raised his hand. Rong Ke hesitated for a brief moment before taking it. His fingers were ice cold, but his palm slowly tightened with undeniable resolve. His eyes locked onto hers as he asked,
“Rong Ke, I ask you—are you willing?”
Are you willing?
Rong Ke had not earned years of praise for nothing. She immediately understood what her father was asking. Heaven waits for no one. Rong Lang was only eight years old—he would undoubtedly need someone to act as regent. And now, her father was asking her: Rong Ke, are you willing?
Most of the court was filled with veteran ministers who had followed the founding emperors, her grandfather and great-grandfather. By seniority, they were like uncles and fathers to her. In the palace stood the Empress Dowager from the venerable Cui clan; outside the palace, she had two uncles in their prime. But Rong Ke herself had no military power, no trusted followers, and no allies at court. All she had was a younger brother, only eight years old, and a reputation for precocious intelligence—built up by others.
Rong Ke stared hard into Rong Mingzhe’s eyes. At last, she slowly nodded.
“Your daughter Rong Ke is willing.”
Only then did Rong Mingzhe smile, a smile of relief and certainty.
“I knew my daughter would not disappoint me. Since you’ve said this, then starting tomorrow, report to the palace at the morning hour.”
He raised a hand and pointed to the nearby stack of memorials.
“You should start learning how to issue imperial responses to these as well.”
After Rong Ke left the Hall of Dual Principles, she remained silent for a long time. Her face was expressionless, cloaked in a thick white fox-fur robe, walking slowly among the pale marble railings.
Behind her, a palace maid carefully reminded her,
“Your Highness, it’s late… you should return to your chambers.”
Rong Ke stopped walking and looked up at the endless night sky. It was dark as ink, with a few stars—bright and scattered after the snow—dotting the heavens.
The wind in November was no small matter. The maid didn’t know what the emperor and the princess had discussed, but judging by the princess’s anxious expression, it must have been serious. Still, concerned for Rong Ke’s health, she gathered her courage to speak again:
“Your Highness, the night is deep and the wind is harsh. If you don’t return soon, you might catch a cold.”
Rong Ke drew her fox-fur cloak tighter around her. The fine fur framed her face, making her snowy complexion and striking features appear even more radiant.
The wind howled, and Rong Ke’s voice, carried on the air, was as clear and cold as midwinter itself:
“Send orders—summon Xiao Jingduo of Jiannan Province back to the capital immediately.”
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