Late winter, the warm pavilion of Shenlong Hall.
From behind an embroidered curtain came the frantic strains of a pipa. Though the technique was skillful, the player’s heart was not in it, and the music came in broken, uneven bursts. A palace attendant waited outside the curtain until the music ceased, then spoke up at the appropriate moment to announce, “The Little Princess has risen.”
Xie Jing set the pipa aside from his lap and rose from the couch, walking slowly toward the bedroom. Having stayed in Shenlong Hall for several days, he had ordered another couch placed in the warm pavilion for his daily use, unwilling to leave the rear hall even for a moment.
Xiao Yao had come to the palace to see him a few days ago, claiming that the tuning of her most cherished “charred-groove” pipa had been off lately. She asked Xie Jing to take some time to calibrate it for her, wondering if the tuning pegs were worn. However, as soon as Xie Jing plucked the strings, he found the tone as clear as water without the slightest sluggishness. He realized then that Xiao Yao was simply trying to find something for him to do to distract his mind.
Ordinarily, with the emperor gravely ill and unconscious, who would dare allow music to be played within the palace? Yet the one playing was the empress himself, who continued to serve the medicinal soups without even changing out of his robes. The music was filled with melancholy and frustration, enough to break the hearts of the nearby attendants; naturally, no one dared to breathe a word of criticism.
Lu Shuning had been staying with her mother these past few days. Having just woken up, she sat before the mirror stand while several palace officials groomed her. Beside them, an attendant held a lacquer tray containing hairpins and rings.
Xie Jing glanced over as he passed and discovered that the “bird perch-style” gold hairpin given to Lu Shuning by Lady Wang was still among them.
He frowned, tapped it with his fingertip, and said, “Put this away.”
Just as the attendant was about to remove it, Lu Shuning suddenly reached out, grabbed a corner of her mother’s robe, and shook her head at him.
Xie Jing knelt beside her with half of his face reflected in the mirror as he gazed into his daughter’s eyes, “Why?”
Lu Shuning glanced at the palace maid arranging her hair; the attendant understood at once and withdrew with a bow. She then turned to Xie Jing and said seriously, “It’s true that Empress Dowager Wang gave me this with ill intentions, but her original point wasn’t entirely wrong. From now on, I will live in the palace, and though my closest kin are by my side, having this ‘parrot perch’ constantly before my eyes can serve as a perpetual reminder. I am no longer the daughter of an accountant in a frontier Prefect’s Mansion; I can no longer shamelessly act like a spoiled child toward my parents.”
Xie Jing was slightly stunned. His gaze fell upon the gold hairpin, and for the first time, he examined this nauseating ornament under the bright morning light—the chain fastened to the parrot’s ankle was visible, yet the standards and laws a royal princess must follow were invisible.
“Before we returned from Yongzhou, Mother told me that there are some paths I must walk alone. Aunt grew up in Mingluan Hall until she was fifteen, and then in Hanzhang Hall until she was twenty-three, but in the end, she also walked out alone. One day, when I am grown and can walk out of these palace walls by myself, I will bid a final farewell to this gold hairpin.”
Hearing this, Xie Jing’s first reaction was panic. The fate of the last “runaway princess” from Taichu Palace sent a chill through him, and as Lu Shuning expressed her yearning for freedom, he was horrified to realize that the first thought that surfaced in his mind was how to keep his daughter by his side.
He was only thirty-one, far from the age where one should fear a fledgling, leave the nest and never returning; he was simply still haunted by lingering fears.
But Xie Jing could not help but ask himself: at this very moment, as he looked at his daughter, was he trying to seek someone else through her? Did he truly see her as the unique individual “Lu Shuning,” or merely as a substitute for the deceased who shared her features? How much of his indulgence and overprotection was driven by a desire to compensate for the guilt he felt toward the dead? Did he really have the right to forbid her from leaving simply because he was terrified of losing her?
Lu Shuning pulled an object from her sleeve and held it out before Xie Jing, calling back his wandering thoughts.
“Actually, Mother, you no longer need to give me everything you have the way you did before. When we were away from home, whether it was a mouthful of food, a bowl of water, charcoal barely enough to keep one person warm, or cotton batting enough for only one garment; you would thrust it all upon me. But the more I received your protection, the sadder I became. I kept thinking, how can I make Mother be just a little bit better to yourself?”
In Lu Shuning’s palm lay one half of the pair of white jade discs that belonged to Xie Jing, which he had personally carved. Last spring, when he returned to the capital and feared that a reunion might never come, he had despondently given the jade into Lu Shuning’s keeping.
“Now there is no worry of hunger or cold anymore, yet I feel that Mother is the same as before. You are filled with so much sorrow and such heavy burdens. Gege told me that when he was young, Mother used to laugh heartily. I didn’t believe him, so I asked Father, only to find out it was true. I realize now that I have hardly ever seen it.”
“Since you carved these jade discs to give to Father and yourself, it is better that they return to their original owner. I only hope that when Mother sees this, you will remember what it felt like to give yourself a gift and then live your life according to that feeling for a long, long time to come.”
After Lu Shuning finished speaking, she carefully straightened the tassel at the bottom of the jade disc and personally tied it to Xie Jing’s waist. The look of contentment on her face after completing this small task was as if her entire being were bathed in the glow of a bright moon; though there might be a three-thousand-foot drop beneath her or giant waves surging in a sea of demons, they could not touch even a single lotus flower embroidered on the tips of her shoes.
Xie Jing froze for a moment, then instinctively reached out his right hand to brush Lu Shuning’s face. In the motion, his sleeve slipped down, fully exposing the forearm beneath; where the faint, threadlike scars of left from “Bone-stripping String” lay bare before them.
He hurriedly tried to cover them, but Lu Shuning gently held his wrist and pushed the sleeve up above his elbow. She leaned her cheek against him, pressing it tightly against the deep and shallow, uneven scars, falling silent and speaking no more.
To Xie Jing, what Lu Shuning was doing felt like a form of alms; returning a virtuous fruit to the “mother,” the most loyal yet most deeply mired of believers.
The name Lu Lingcong had chosen for their daughter all those years ago seemed to have manifested another layer of meaning. She was unfortunate in that she had never known a stable or peaceful life, yet she possessed a heart as clear as a polished mirror.
Xie Jing picked up the fine-toothed comb, pulled Lu Shuning’s head toward him to let her rest on his lap, and slowly began to comb through her soft, raven-like hair bit by bit.
In the late days of the twelfth lunar month, around the time of the Preliminary New Year, heavy snow fell upon Jinling.
By all accounts, it would also be the final snowfall of the Jingyu era. In a few days, the old year would be exhausted, and the era name formally changed; the reign title of the late emperor would then truly become a thing of history.
At Linggu Temple on the eastern outskirts of the capital, the main mountain gate was closed to visitors early that morning, yet a side entrance remained open to receive two inconspicuous carriages. From the first carriage descended a woman with a full head of silver hair; from the second stepped a young beauty, who hastened forward to catch up with her.
Originally, if one were to name the most famous and revered temple in the capital among devout believers, it would be Jiming Temple, which ranked first among the “Four Hundred and Eighty Temples of the Southern Dynasties.” Although Linggu Temple was also an ancient and famous monastery, it was ultimately a notch below. However, in recent years, Jiming Temple had become the place of “house arrest” for the deceased Lady Xiao, while Linggu Temple’s regular guest, Consort Dowager Wu, had transformed into the current Empress Dowager. Naturally, the temple’s incense offerings had begun to flourish.
Inside the temple courtyard, the thin layer of snow had been swept to either side. Xie Jing supported Lady Wu by the elbow, guiding her around the icy patches as they stepped carefully into the temple. “The stone path is wet and slippery, Mother, please watch your step.”
The abbot had long been waiting in front of the spirit wall. He stepped forward and chanted a Buddha’s name: “The Wuliang Hall has been swept clean. Please follow me, noble guests.”
The Wuliang Hall was named for enshrining the Buddha of Infinite Life. Built entirely of brick and stone without using a single piece of wood or a single nail, it was also known as the “Beamless Hall.” Having lived in Jinling for over a decade, this was Xie Jing’s first-time setting foot here. He had made this trip because, while caring for Lu Lingcong, Lady Wu had taken the initiative to invite him.
Lady Wu knelt on the prayer mat for a long time with her eyes closed and her hands pressed together in prayer without uttering a word. Xie Jing did not wish to disturb her and could only follow her lead in offering incense. He took a deep breath, only to find that he had so many wishes to make that he didn’t know where to start; his heart felt momentarily empty.
After a long while, Lady Wu suddenly spoke, “You think I have come to beg the Buddha to bless Zifeng so that he might wake up sooner, don’t you?”
Xie Jing opened his eyes, met her kind and gentle gaze, and nodded in approval.
However, Lady Wu smiled, “I have come to fulfill a vow.”
“From my first visit here in the spring of the first year of Jingyu until now, it has been nearly five years. I have been here many times; most often Qing’er accompanied me, and once or twice, Zhenzhen accompanied me as well. I have prayed to the Buddha that Zifeng would not suffer the pain of blades on the battlefield, prayed that you and Ningning would have a safe journey when you left the capital, and prayed that Zhenzhen could return to my side sooner.”
“Every time I made a vow, I would kneel in the Buddhist Hall of the West Palace from morning till night, anxious as to why no miracle had appeared. Once those prayers were answered, whether Zifeng returned in triumph, or you and your daughter came safely back to the capital, I would rush back in a frenzy of joy to fulfill my vow. It became a cycle of overwhelming joy and overwhelming sorrow, a tormenting upheaval that nearly drove me mad.”
“Furthermore, there are times when the gods do not manifest. I wanted to ask why my Zhenzhen could not return, but the Great Bodhisattva Guanyin would not deign to open her sacred lips and grant me even a single gatha of insight.”
“I still harbored a glimmer of hope, so when Zifeng went on this campaign, I came here to make a vow once again. But before I could wait for Zifeng’s return, the Young Master of the Xie family came back to Jinling alone. I summoned him to the palace and told him to tell me exactly what had happened in either Chen Commandery or Yongzhou without hiding anything. I have seen enough of life-and-death separations and dark intrigues; there is nothing left that I cannot endure.”
Xie Jing was stunned; he had no idea that Lady Wu had actually met with Xie Jun.
“He recounted the circumstances one by one, and only then did I realize, Zifeng’s search for Zhenzhen was a risk of his very life; and your search for Zifeng was also undertaken with a resolve to die.”
“I thought then: if even the two of you could not return, beneath whose wings would my grandchildren find refuge? Lady Xiao coerced Zifeng’s father, and Lady Wang coerced the late Emperor; each for the sake of their own maternal clans. I have never relied on my maternal clan, nor has the Wu family ever used me; there is not a shred of selfish motive between us. If it becomes necessary, even if I must stand forth to guard my grandchildren, I will do so with a clear conscience.”
“I fulfill this vow today not to thank the Buddha for protecting you and Zifeng on your return to the capital but to confess to the Heavens the insincerity of my heart—insincere in the past and unwilling to be sincere in the future. From this day forward, I shall no longer seek help from the Buddhas but only from myself.”
Xie Jing suddenly realized why, despite knowing he was reluctant, Lady Wu had insisted on bringing him along on this trip. She wanted to remove the stone weighing on his heart.
He could strike down gods or Buddhas alike if they stood in the path of his children, and he could resort to any means for the sake of those he loved most, but that did not mean he had no need of something to lean on. The internal judgment of “gentleness, kindness, restraint, and magnanimity” had only temporarily faded; it had never disappeared. When reflecting in the dead of night, it would only torture him twofold.
“Zhiwu, I have lived in Taichu Palace for nearly forty years. Why does this palace strike fear into the world? Is it merely because of the heavy walls and the desolate halls? No! It is because within it, people plot against, deceive, abandon, and kill one another. Bricks and tiles are dead things; it is the people who are alive! How can you not fear it?”
“It is not that you must become the one who plots, deceives, abandons, and holds the power of life and death.” Lady Wu looked up toward the solemn and dignified Infinite Buddha. “Rather, it is that you must be like the gods and Buddhas of the heavens, clear-minded and bright-hearted, seeing everything with your own eyes.”
She took Xie Jing’s hand, a mother’s hand clasping another mother’s, and said softly, “My child, you need not be afraid. You have already endured the hardest times; the choices before you are far greater than those I once had. What kind of ‘path’ you choose to walk within the palace is entirely in your own hands—go forward without fear.”
Xie Jing remembered the confusion he felt when facing Lu Shuning. He hesitated, the question almost impossible to voice, “Mother, do you regret it?”
Lady Wu did not need him to be explicit; she clearly understood what he was asking—did she regret not holding back Lu Lingzhen amidst that blood-red sunset of years past?
She also heard Xie Jing’s unspoken implication: If one day my daughter sets upon that same path, what should I do?
Lady Wu turned her face slightly, leaving the first question unanswered, and simply sighed: “Do not stop her.”
The journey from Linggu Temple back to the palace required passing through Zhuque Avenue, where Prince Zhao’s Mansion also lay. A palace attendant asked Xie Jing for instructions, “Would the Empress like to stop by the former residence while we are on the way? Sister Yin Chou mentioned before that the old servants in the manor are all deeply concerned for the safety of His Majesty and the Empress.”
Xie Jing remained silent for a long while, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. How could he not want to return to the Prince’s Mansion? He was only afraid that once he returned—once he stepped into the study, the bedroom, and the garden, he would never want to leave again. He did not want to go back and hear those honorific titles he had finally forced himself to grow accustomed to, nor did he want to play the role of the virtuous empress from a palace grievance poem, copying scriptures by morning and painting portraits by dusk.
The attendant reminded him once more, “Empress? We are about to pass the main gate.”
Xie Jing ultimately remained silent, yet in the end, he could not help himself. He quietly parted the curtain just a sliver while murmuring in his heart, “Just one look from afar.”
However, that single glance sent a violent jolt through him. He saw that one half of the main gate of Prince Zhao’s Mansion stood open, and a dense crowd of servants and maids stood behind the threshold, craning their necks to look toward the road. They were hoping desperately that the carriage might stop or that they might catch a glimpse of him through the window. Uncle Zhou, who was already showing the frailty of old age, stood at the very front, leaning on a staff and supported by others.
Xie Jing blurted out, “Driver, slow down!”
He nearly threw back the carriage curtain, but reason told him that if he spoke even one more word to them, he would never be able to harden his heart enough to leave the mansion today.
The news of Lu Lingcong’s unconsciousness was underseal, and the Tiger Division had not yet returned to the capital; the city still believed the new emperor was stationed at the northern frontier. Shenlong Hall could not be left without someone to oversee the general situation, and Xie Jing appearing alone at his former residence would spark rumors. In short, the timing was wrong.
In that fleeting moment of hesitation, the Prince’s Mansion was about to vanish from his peripheral vision. Xie Jing tried to look closer, but he could no longer see it.
Suddenly, Uncle Zhou’s shout drifted from behind them—feeble with age, yet every word pierced the heart: “We humble servants have no fortune to serve the Imperial Carriage, but we pray that His Majesty and the Empress take care of yourselves within the palace walls and do not forget your old home! Everything within Prince Zhao’s Mansion remains as it was!”
On New Year’s Eve, since no one had the heart to eat a “reunion dinner” that was such in name only, they simply had a quiet evening meal at Mingluan Hall. Xie Jing bid farewell to Lady Wu, settled his children into bed, and returned to Shenlong Hall alone.
He let down his hair and washed, then donned his sleeping robes and sat by Lu Lingcong’s bedside. Countless times over the past decade or so, he had stared silently at the sleeping Lu Lingcong like this, reaching out to gently trace the smooth lines of his features, from the brow bone to the tip of his nose.
Most of the time, such a touch would have been detected by Lu Lingcong’s keen instincts. But when sleeping by Xie Jing’s side, he was always extremely relaxed and unguided; he would either simply ignore it or muddle-headedly pull Xie Jing’s hand down, press it into his chest, and continue sleeping.
After a long while of getting no response, Xie Jing finally looked away. He picked up the white jade disc and the bronze knife resting on the table, and said in a low voice:
“Since I have some leisure time now anyway, I might as well pick up this old unfinished work. When both jade discs are complete, I will give them to you once more. It’s been nearly five years, and we haven’t even had the chance to celebrate one of your birthdays properly. Next year on the twenty-ninth day of the fifth month, shall we go quietly to Mount Tang’s Manor? The mountains are cool in the summer; we can leave the doors of the water pavilion open to listen to the frogs and chill some plums to eat.”
“This morning, Qing’er received the officials’ congratulations in your stead. He looked quite respectable and wasn’t at all stage-frightened, though as I watched him from behind the curtain, his frame was barely enough to even be called a youth. For the past two months, he has been following Master He every day to learn how to handle government affairs and how to respond to different types of memorials. With Xiao Yao inside the palace walls and General Cui stationed outside, there is no need to worry too much about the safety of the siblings or your mother.”
“I truly don’t know what you were planning. Originally, I could have taught all of this to Qing’er myself, yet you suddenly intervened with an imperial decree of investiture, and now everything is ruined. The Department of State Affairs no longer permits my entry, and even the deliberations at the Political Council are no longer open for me to attend. It is clean enough, I suppose. The old danger of ‘maternal clans interfering in governance’ has now been completely eliminated.”
“Qing’er says he can become the solitary, freezing ‘Lonely One’ at the pinnacle for our sakes; Ningning says she can strictly adhere to the rules and laws of a Princess for our sakes; and Mother says she can change her half-life of peaceful seclusion to step before the stage of wind and blood all for us.”
“But was this our original intention, Zifeng? Wasn’t what we promised and hoped for in our youth is for our children to be carefree and for our elders to be at ease? Having been lectured by this mortal world until now, we can only rely on ‘fulfilling’ one another to barely keep this family from collapsing and scattering.”
“That day… you saw Yi Yun, didn’t you? That was the last time. Before returning to the capital, the officials took me to a range of hills outside the pass to bury her; they said that when spring comes, it will all be covered in green grass. The day before yesterday, Li Qi wrote to tell me that the soldiers and civilians of Yongzhou have given those hills the name: ‘Duo Yun Ridge.’ I brought back a lock of her mane and kept it in a brocade box; it’s sitting right by your bedside now. When you wake up, we will go back to the Prince’s Mansion together and bury her beneath the white plum tree to keep Lu Ai company.”
The old snow weighed down the branches; withered red petals fell to the ground, and the palace lanterns glowed a dim, yellow light. Xie Jing carved the jade disc slowly yet earnestly, speaking in a disjointed, wandering manner throughout the night. He spoke until the water clock ran dry and the candles flickered out, finally unable to hold out any longer. He slumped against the edge of the bed and fell into a deep sleep, occasionally murmuring a few words of sleep-talk.
That blood-stained inner garment had been folded with meticulous care and placed upon a gold tray, treated with the same reverence as an imperial edict of the highest authority. Xie Jing had read it only once, on the night he rescued Lu Lingcong, and had not touched it since.
Just as the first ray of dawn light pierced through the window paper and shone upon Xie Jing’s hair, Lu Lingcong’s index finger; which was held tightly within his palm, suddenly gave a slight twitch.
