The sensation of life slipping away like sand through one’s fingers was all too vivid. Princess Baohua, Xie Yuzhang, knew that she was about to die.
She struggled to open her eyes. Plain cyan curtains embroidered with trailing vine patterns blocked out the candlelight, leaving the interior of the bed canopy shrouded in dim shadow. A slender silhouette was cast against the curtain, hands pressed together, lips moving in devout, silent recitation of scripture.
It was Fei Niang. Fei Niang had stayed by her side — all the way to the very end.
If time could be turned back, Xie Yuzhang did not know whether she would still ride at full gallop outside the city walls to snatch Lin Fei back from the column of prisoners being sent to the bitter northern frontier to serve as camp entertainers for the military.
Lin Fei was so resilient. Perhaps she would not have taken her own life on the road the way her mother had. Perhaps she could have survived long enough to see the day the Lin Family rose again. Her uncles and elder brothers had gone into hiding and fled — it was not impossible that they might have waylaid the column partway and rescued her before she fell to such a fate.
Thinking of it that way, it all seemed so much better than following her. Fei Niang had followed her and, in doing so, had known nothing but hardship upon hardship.
The Lin Family had since reclaimed a seat at court under the new dynasty and wanted to bring her home. If she had returned, she would once again have been a daughter of a great and noble house.
But that foolish Ah-Fei had refused. She had stayed behind in this Xiaoyao Marquis Manor — the place where the imperial family of the former dynasty were confined — keeping Xie Yuzhang company day after day beside green lanterns and ancient Buddhas, copying scriptures and chanting sutras, and would not leave.
What a fool!
Xie Yuzhang closed her eyes. The ice-cold tears slid from the corners of her eyes.
Soon. It would be over soon. She was about to be free. She could already hear the call of another world.
Those sounds drifted like wisps far away at the edge of the sky, then seemed to ring just beside her ear. The laughter — bright as silver bells — sounded exactly like the little palace maids of the old days, when she still lived in Zhaoxia Palace, scampering noisily along the covered corridors.
Those little palace girls had all been selected as her companions. Every one of them was lively and spirited. She had never restrained them either, letting them live carefree and joyful lives within Zhaoxia Palace, happy each and every day.
In the other palaces, the servants were all demure, respectful, and careful in their every step. Only in her Zhaoxia Palace could one hear the warbling and twittering of voices at any hour — laughter strung together in chains, as light and bright as fingers plucking at the strings of a qin, ding-dong, ding-dong.
Her father the Emperor had praised Zhaoxia Palace for its “genuine delight.” When the burdens of governance weighed on him and he did not wish to visit the rear palace, he would come to Zhaoxia Palace to sit awhile, taste the tea she had brewed herself, and enjoy the new dances she and the performers from the Imperial Music Bureau had rehearsed.
Her father the Emperor — he was skilled in every art: qin, chess, calligraphy, painting, with no exception. He had created a new style of writing and founded a new school of painting. Had he been born into an ordinary household of scholars, he might one day have become the founding master of a great artistic lineage, leaving his name to posterity.
But he had been born into the imperial family. He had been born to be Emperor.
He had spent far too much time on these pursuits that did nothing to advance the governance of the realm. And in those days, she had not found a single thing wrong with it.
Xie Yuzhang thought she heard the soft, rapid patter of little palace maids lifting their skirts and running lightly along the covered walkways, and could even make out their hushed whispers —
Where is Sister Ah-Fei?
She went to the Imperial Wardrobe Bureau. She said she had to see it with her own eyes before she could rest easy.
That makes sense — the gossamer silk is so sheer, one wonders how it is even woven. And the hundred flowers embroidery the princess wants, who knows if the embroiderers can manage it…
Xie Yuzhang did not know what they were talking about. The carefree life of her girlhood felt like it had belonged to another lifetime altogether — she could not remember any of it.
But she knew these were only auditory hallucinations. Such hallucinations arose naturally because her life had nearly reached its end, and another world was drawing her deeper and deeper into its grasp.
Listen — she could even hear the distant drone of cicadas, little palace children playing in the courtyard, the older ones sitting in the covered walkways and whispering secrets to one another…
Then Fei Niang’s voice broke through, sudden and startling: “Your Majesty?”
With that cry of surprise, every hallucination in Xie Yuzhang’s ears ceased at once and dissolved in an instant.
With Fei Niang’s careful and meticulous nature, she would never again mistakenly call her father… call him “Your Majesty.” The “Your Majesty” she was addressing could only be someone else entirely.
As though rallying for one last burst of strength before dying, Xie Yuzhang opened her eyes.
A tall man’s silhouette fell across the bed curtain — the outline commanding, imposing. His oppressive aura penetrated even through the curtain fabric, making Xie Yuzhang’s already faltering breath grow yet more labored.
Your Majesty!
That Majesty — how had he come to be here?
“How is she?” The man’s voice was deliberately lowered, yet still it could not conceal the authority of one who commanded thousands upon thousands of troops.
“Your Highness…” Fei Niang choked on her words, barely able to speak. “She is in her final moments…”
Oh, foolish Ah-Fei — before this man, what “Highness” remained? Xie Yuzhang thought with bitter self-mockery.
By now, in all the world, only Ah-Fei still called her “Your Highness.”
Yet the Emperor did not hold it against Lin Shi Fei Niang.
He was silent for a moment, then the shadow upon the curtain suddenly moved. A man’s hand reached toward the bed curtain, and light leaked through the gap it parted, stabbing and sharp.
No! Don’t!
Xie Yuzhang shut her eyes. Her hand could not be lifted, yet the tips of her fingers trembled beyond her control.
But the curtain was not pulled open by that hand — because Lin Fei leapt to her feet.
Her slender arms spread wide, blocking half the curtain, standing before the Emperor known throughout the land for his fierceness and ruthlessness. It was the image of a praying mantis attempting to stop a carriage.
“Your Majesty!” Lin Fei’s voice trembled. “The princess has known hardship all her life. The only thing left to her in this world is her beauty. Please, Your Majesty, please…”
Xie Yuzhang did not know what she looked like now. In these days when illness had confined her to bed, she had long since stopped looking into a mirror.
But she remembered the last time she had looked — over two months ago. The person in that mirror could only be described as gaunt and wasted. If Xie Yuzhang had still had the strength to raise her hand, she would certainly have covered her face the moment that hand reached for the curtain.
To be seen looking like this — she would not have wanted it. Not even in death!
Ah, why could she not simply die at once? Why did she have to endure this fright before dying?
Xie Yuzhang opened her eyes and struggled to keep them from falling shut, pouring nearly the last of her strength into fixing her gaze on that hand.
It was large — fingers long and powerful, the knuckles clearly defined. She could even see the calluses on the pads of his fingers.
Xie Yuzhang had memories of those calluses.