On the night of the fourteenth day of the first lunar month, the Beginning of Spring banquet was held, with rare delicacies laid out in abundance and music and dances gathered in great numbers. Envoys from seven nations—Nihualuo, Nanpi, Zhuolian, Xipu, Yangjita, Tuhuolu, and Jiaman—had all been invited and assembled in the main hall of the Junlei Palace.
Emperor Xi was dressed in black satin ceremonial robes embroidered with four golden dragons flanking the sun and moon, five-colored clouds, and longevity seal script, and he wore a crown adorned with twelve hanging beads. His brows were sharply defined, and his expression was solemn and serene.
Tilan, clad in a five-colored robe with paired phoenixes, sat exceptionally in the upper right seat alongside Zhuolian’s envoy, Suolan. Suolan, of noble status, was the youngest son of the King of Zhuolian and the full-blooded younger brother of Consort Shurong, Tilan. Having been cut off from news of her homeland for many years, Tilan was overjoyed. Her thundercloud-dark eyes brimmed with tears as she clasped her brother’s hands and poured out her feelings in the Zhuolian tongue.
Prince Chang occupied the upper left seat, dressed in a vermilion robe with dragon patterns on the shoulders, conversing cheerfully with the envoy from Yangjita. In contrast, the envoys from Nihualuo and Tuhuolu appeared uneasy and showed little interest in the feast. After three rounds of wine, the Nihualuo envoy, Bonannajie, could no longer restrain himself. After exchanging a meaningful glance with Suolan, he raised his jade cup to Emperor Xi and said, "Your Majesty, we have heard that the Dragon-Tailed God has recently been welcomed into the palace for reverence. Is this true?" Emperor Xi gazed at Suolan from behind his green jade crown beads, a faint smile on his lips, and replied calmly, "It is." The court officials exchanged surprised whispers, their expressions filled with astonishment.
Suppressing his shock, Bonannajie cupped his hands and said, "That is truly cause for celebration. Our nation, along with Zhuolian and Tuhuolu, relies heavily on maritime trade and holds deep faith in the Dragon-Tailed God. Since the Dragon-Tailed God has descended upon your esteemed nation, we humbly request to behold its divine form and offer prayers for the safety of our merchants. We beseech Your Majesty to grant us this honor." Emperor Xi turned and whispered to Fang Zhu, who bowed and replied, "The bells and drums have already announced its passage through the Jihan Gate half a moment ago." Bonannajie still recalled the humiliation this eunuch had caused him during his last audience and felt a surge of displeasure, taking a sullen sip of strong wine.
"Is that so?" Emperor Xi’s laughter rang clear as jade. "Lord Bonannajie, look to the south." At these words, everyone in the hall turned their heads toward the direction of the palace gates.
The Junlei Hall stood along the central axis of the Forbidden City, overlooking the entire outer court to the south, while to the north lay the Zichen Hall, the main hall for court deliberations, and the Ningtai Gate, which separated the inner palace from the outer court. At that moment, drifting clouds veiled the moon, and the southern sky glowed faintly red. From the main gate of the Forbidden City, the Kaiping Gate, all the way to the front of the Junlei Hall, the nine-li stretch of palace buildings remained unlit, their glazed tile roofs merging like a dark sea in the deep night, with a central path known as the Cloud Path cutting through.
Bonannajie stood and strained his eyes into the distance but saw no movement. Puzzled, he turned back to Emperor Xi, who, though still smiling, raised his sharply defined brows, his gaze turning sharp and penetrating.
A wave of startled exclamations swept through the hall.The Forbidden City was built along the mountain's contours, with the Zichen Hall at its peak. The Junlei Hall stood second only in height, and from its vantage point, one could see the Kaiping Gate—seven zhang wide and five zhang tall—slowly swinging open. A crimson glow seeped through the widening gap, the light of clustered torches, as a single rider galloped through. Stone lanterns lining the cloud-paved pathways were connected by fire channels; once ignited, the flames surged like twin dragon tides, lighting up one after another in a spectacular procession toward the Junlei Hall. Leading this wave of light was the rider, swift as thunder. Wherever the horse’s hooves passed, five forbidden gates—Qianxuan, Kunrong, Jiujing, Dinghe, Wencheng, Wude, and Xiangyun—swung open with a resounding roar, their halls illuminating in sequence like magnificent jewels. In the blink of an eye, the rider arrived at the foot of the Junlei Hall. Originally, two people were on the horse; a youth leaped from the saddle, cradling a veiled figure in his arms, and dashed up the hall without touching the ground.
At the far end of the hall, a burly man with a thick beard abruptly stood up, muttering in astonishment, "Haishi?!" Prince Chang glanced over and recognized him as Zhang Chengqian, the garrison commander of Huangquan Pass, who had escorted the envoys to the capital.
Almost simultaneously, Bonanaje let out a cry, disregarding his shoes as he rushed barefoot from his seat. The youth swiftly brushed past Bonanaje, leaving a trace of sea brine in the air. When Bonanaje turned to look, the youth was already standing before Emperor Xu in the upper seats, his hair tips crusted with salt crystals, his expression proud and unyielding. The person in his arms was wrapped from head to toe in damp cloth, dripping with water.
The hall fell into a silence so profound that even the breathing and heartbeats of over a hundred people seemed to vanish.
"Did you capture it?" Emperor Xu raised an eyebrow and asked. The envoys and attendants from Nihualuo, Zhunian, and Tuhuluo paled. In their countries, the merfolk were revered as Dragon-Tailed Deities, held in the highest esteem. To them, any disrespect shown to the merfolk was heresy, let alone using the irreverent word "capture" for a deity! The youth said little, simply peeling back the wet cloth from the face of the person he held. As the cloth fell away, cascading azure curls tumbled to the floor. Moments later, something within the curls stirred faintly—a pale, delicate ear. Holding the woman with one arm, the youth let her lean against him as he unwrapped the layers of damp cloth, revealing her pallid, slick skin. Unsteady on her feet, the woman clung tightly to Haishi’s neck. Bonanaje, who stood closest to her, immediately let out a howl. The woman’s arms bore faint patterns of dragon scales, and the webbing between her fingers shimmered with a translucent blue, strikingly similar to the Dragon-Tailed Deity statues of Nihualuo and identical to the pendant worn by Tilán.
Langhuan furrowed her azure brows, her unusually large eyes opening in confusion as she glanced around the room.
Even Emperor Xu could not suppress a soft gasp of awe.
Her azure eyes held only dark pupils, with no whites visible. As her gaze shifted, her silver irides reflected a kaleidoscope of colors, swirling like vortices.
The rustle of robes and the sound of knees hitting the floor echoed through the hall. Envoys and attendants from Nihualuo, Zhunian, and Tuhuluo rose from their seats and gathered in the center, kneeling in devout reverence before Langhuan. Startled, Langhuan stared at the humans prostrating before her, then turned to look at Haishi, who silently averted his face.
The mermaid covered her nose and mouth with her soaked sheer sleeves, a single tear glistening as it fell. Upon hitting the ground, it bounced—a pearl formed from mermaid tears. She raised a hand, her pale blue nails gently tracing Haishi’s cheek, as if filled with boundless pity and sorrow.Poor child. As that damp, cool, and slick touch lingered, an ethereal voice whispered and echoed in Haishi’s mind.
Langhuan buried her face back into Haishi’s embrace, and a series of clear, melodious sounds, like music, rang out on the polished clay floor tiles. When everyone looked closely, they saw countless mermaid pearls cascading from the young man’s arms.
Fangzhu’s gaze, however, did not linger on the mermaid. The young man holding the mermaid had salt crystals clinging to his eyelashes and hair, his skin deathly pale from the seawater, like a wandering spirit. In his eyes, a flicker of pain passed by.
Her pupils held a mirror, coldly reflecting everything cast upon them, freezing her soul. He was familiar with that look—for fourteen years, he had seen it every day while grooming himself in the mirror.
“Well, Lord Bonanaje,” Emperor Xu’s youthful and pleasant voice carried a hint of mockery, “Our kingdom plans to construct a palace for the Dragon-Tailed Deity, inviting them to reside here permanently.” Bonanaje kowtowed and pleaded, “Your Majesty! With your boundless kindness, I beg you to return the Dragon-Tailed Deity to the sea! Without the Dragon-Tailed Deity in the ocean, sea serpents will multiply, and fierce waves will rise. Our people…” He could not continue, tears streaming down his face as he repeatedly kowtowed.
Suolan also looked up urgently and said, “Most of our people depend on the sea for their livelihood. Without the Dragon-Tailed Deity’s protection, the consequences would be unimaginable. We beseech Your Majesty, in consideration of the marital alliance between our two nations, to grant this request.” The envoy from Tuhulu remained silent, crawling on his knees to the front of the upper seat and prostrating himself, trembling all over.
Emperor Xu reclined against the table, his sharp, phoenix-like eyes gleaming coldly from behind the twelve strands of green jade beads hanging from his crown. “Unless you form an alliance with me here, swearing in the name of the Dragon-Tailed Deity that as long as the Yingge Sea and the Jiangnan Sea do not dry up, you and all your descendants will never invade our kingdom. Those who break this oath shall forever lose the Dragon-Tailed Deity’s favor.” On the fourteenth day of the first month of the fifteenth year, a mermaid was presented as tribute from the regions. Emperor Xu displayed it to the foreign envoys, and all expressed admiration and submission. Thus, the Spring Alliance was formed, pledging eternal peace for generations and an end to warfare.
—Chronicles of Emperor Xu, “The Book of Edicts”
“My king, that star has suddenly brightened.” On the vast grassland, a golden-haired boy holding a horse suddenly pointed toward the horizon.
A handsome young man on horseback raised his head to gaze at the southeastern sky. “Ah. That is Qingxu, a rare large star in the northern sky. Some say it is the life star of the current emperor of the Eastern Continent.” He smiled, his dark eyes flecked with gold, his chin adorned with a faint stubble of steel-blue, and his long hair tied back, curling thick and black like the waves of the River Styx.
“What will happen? Will he attack our Huku?” the boy asked, his clear green eyes shifting as he chewed on a blade of grass.
“No.” Duohan’s lips, sharp and defined, curled into a cold smile. “That is not it brightening—it is likely its final burst.” The originally pale blue-white light of Qingxu now pulsed with an ominous crimson, throbbing like a heart.
The star Qingxu had risen. Haishi hugged her knees, curled up in a corner of the enormous bed, gazing at the sky, her black hair draping over her body like a garment.
At the other end of the bed, a man slept, his lower body wrapped in brocade covers, his bare and robust torso exposed, his breathing even and calm. Haishi picked up her robe, draped it over herself, and silently crawled over. Holding the collar with one hand, she leaned down to look at his face.The man’s face bore lines of pride. Even with his eyes closed, the upward tilt at their corners conveyed an indescribable coldness and sharpness. She tentatively wrapped her hands around his neck but never tightened her grip. If she were to slash this face, the scar would appear on another man’s countenance; if she were to strangle the person before her, that other man would die by her hands first; yet if she were to kiss this person, the other would remain forever unaware.
Emperor Xu opened his eyes, their clarity like solid ice.
“Do you know what I’ve been thinking on this bed for the past fourteen years?” Haishi did not answer. Her hands, still clasped around Emperor Xu’s neck, tightened slightly instead.
“For fourteen years, my every waking and sleeping thought has revolved around a single word: death.” His voice, emerging from thin lips, was as crystalline as the moonlight outside the window. “Without a lamp nearby, I cannot sleep. Even if I doze off, if anyone approaches within a foot, I startle awake. Those eight years—I was not in the human world but in hell. By the time they ended, I was no longer human.”
“All people are in hell, not just you,” Haishi replied in a low voice.
“Commoners can abandon their fields and flee into the mountains, cling to an enemy’s legs and weep for mercy, or die like wild grass—I cannot. Boyao escaped. He hanged himself, ending it all. Shuyun died young, and Jichang was far away in Zhu Nian. If I had run away too—” He broke off abruptly and gave a bitter laugh. “I was seventeen that year, full of martial skill and strategic wisdom, yet I had never killed a single person. My father died suddenly, rebel troops pressed upon the city, and I was afraid too. Jianming came as promised, leading troops to help me break the siege, but he was only fourteen that year.” Emperor Xu lay calmly, and with every word, Haishi felt the vibration in his chest.
“I had to bear it all. The life and death, warmth and hunger of the people and soldiers; the victories and defeats in battle; the internal strife and betrayal; the self-serving, threatening commanders who claimed to support the throne. I could not fear, could not fail, could not escape—not even die. In those years of chaos, the human world was a sea of blood. During those eight years, I often thought—” Emperor Xu’s eyes gradually took on their usual bewitching expression. “If all the swords in the world were melted into plowshares, and all military texts turned into manure, would the world become more peaceful?—But that wouldn’t do. Humans are born knowing conflict and killing; it’s only after killing many that they begin to emphasize technique and efficiency, eventually producing military texts and swords. So what is to be done?” Emperor Xu gazed up at Haishi’s beautiful face.
“Why not… remove those exceptionally skilled commanders?” Haishi’s lips trembled, her voice faint.
“So-called famous generals are merely outstanding leaders in killing and plunder. Without them, the common folk would only have disputes over field boundaries, fights with hoes and stools. Wouldn’t that be better?” Emperor Xu revealed a childlike smile.Hai Shi whispered, "You're insane."
"Among the millions in this world who dare to think such thoughts, you are the only one who dares to say it to me." Emperor Xu's smile deepened, his features taking on a wicked handsomeness under the ever-burning lanterns of the Golden City Palace. "When I wanted to live, so many sought my life. Now that I am weary of living, no one is willing to kill me. Even when I push them to the brink, they refuse to rebel. They would rather kill for me, bear the infamy for me, even harm themselves—yet they will not kill me. You see, even when I took you and left you battered and bruised, I could not force him to defy me. If I were to take my own life, I would have to kill Jianming first, and I cannot do that." Emperor Xu grasped Hai Shi's hands and effortlessly pulled her against his chest. She caught the faint scent of wine on his breath. "You cannot do it either. You and I are the same—we cannot."
Hai Shi collapsed against Emperor Xu's chest, weeping silently.
"It's alright. It will be over soon, very soon." Emperor Xu stroked Hai Shi's hair, comforting her like a fellow sufferer.
The brilliant lantern light streamed through the countless windows and doors of the Golden City Palace, illuminating the silent night of the Forbidden City.
"Your Highness, we are here." The guard leading the way bowed, drawing Ji Chang's attention back. He cast one last glance toward the Golden City Palace before turning to the door before him.
As the door opened, pearls piled over an inch high came pouring out, rolling over people's feet and shimmering with a dazzling, precious light. Prince Chang stepped back, picked up a pearl, and examined it closely against the light, squinting in awe. A single pearl seemed to contain a vast universe within, its radiance shifting endlessly. Compared to Langhuan's tears, the pearls painstakingly cultivated by oysters over years of enduring hardship and harnessing the power of the tides seemed dull and lifeless.
Looking further into the room, he saw waves of deep blue, curly, and magnificent hair scattered across the floor. The owner of the hair seemed to have cried herself to exhaustion, lying prone on the ground, letting her floor-length tresses flow like water among the pearls. At her side, her ankles bore tiny fins. As if sensing his approach, those delicate fins swayed gently.
Like clouds parting to reveal a glimpse of the azure sea, her strikingly large, deep blue eyes slowly opened. Though she appeared weak, her gaze was clear and penetrating.
She raised a hand toward him, her fingers adorned with pale blue nails an inch long, and delicate, crystalline blue webbing stretched between them.
He had never believed in the deities of Zhuni, considering her nothing more than an exotic creature of the sea. Yet, this exotic being possessed a beauty unlike any in the mortal world. As her bronze-like skin glowed seductively in the candlelight, he found himself unable to resist, reaching out tentatively to take her elegantly extended hand. But she did not stop, instead continuing slowly and hesitantly until her fingers touched his cheek.
Her crystalline, lustrous fingertips traced the contours of his face. The tangled threads of memory, like loose strands pulled from silk fabric, unraveled with a single gentle tug, and the entire tapestry of his past crumbled apart.From the time he learned to walk, he had mastered the art of moving through the palace as silently as a cat. His mother, Consort Nie, had already fallen out of favor before giving birth to him. Empress Yue, the birth mother of Crown Prince Boyao, had also passed away not long before, leaving Consort Song—the mother of Zhongxu and Shuyun—as the most influential figure in the palace. Though the palace servants and eunuchs never deliberately oppressed Jichang and his mother, their condescending and dismissive attitudes were never concealed. Crown Prince Boyao was not favored by the emperor, and rumors of succession disputes and dethronement had long been rampant. Jichang himself held no expectations for the throne. Shuyun was frail and sickly, so all discussions secretly pointed to Zhongxu as the likely successor. At that time, the second prince, Zhongxu, and Fang Jianming, the eldest son of the Duke of Qinghai, were the most dazzling pair of youths in the imperial city. Jichang, however, could only stand in the shadows, watching them ride and play, carefully hiding his childish envy.
Threads unraveled swiftly, cocoons split apart.
He still remembered the Great Summer Hunt when he was nine. Zhongxu and Jianming had sneaked out of the hunting grounds and hidden in an ice cellar used for storing ice blocks, only to be accidentally locked inside by patrolling hunters.
When Zhongxu was rescued, he was already as still as a corpse, yet he held Jianming tightly in his arms, preserving the last trace of warmth in Jianming’s chest. Jichang ran forward to touch Zhongxu’s face, but the stiffness and coldness frightened him. He was quickly pulled away by the palace servants to make room for the imperial physicians.
The lingering chill on his fingertips felt like a malicious whisper, silently asking him: If it had been him locked in the ice cellar, would Zhongxu have risked his life to protect this half-brother? But there would never be such an "if." Zhongxu had never wanted him around—not out of disdain or hostility, but perhaps simply because they had not been raised together and never formed a close bond.
While the palace descended into chaos, with everyone scrambling to save the two youths, no one noticed the pale-faced fourth prince, Jichang, watching from afar outside the door.
Two years later, Puyouma brought Zizan as an exchange, and the Zhuanian people demanded that a prince of the Zheng dynasty be taken back to Zhuan as a hostage. Without a doubt, it had to be him. His elder sister, Mudan, had already married far away. Aside from his mother, no one else needed him, and his mother was already gravely ill, with no hope of recovery nor any certainty of her impending death—just lingering in a state of chronic illness. During the journey westward, as a young child suffering from heatstroke, he fell asleep and delayed their travel schedule, earning him scoldings from the Zhuanian envoy, Puyouma.
As chaos erupted in the Zheng dynasty and the political situation remained uncertain, the Zhuanian people no longer maintained even the pretense of courtesy, treating him as nothing more than a useless relic of the palace. He sold off his possessions to gather information within the palace, while his escort of five thousand young cavalrymen secretly disguised themselves and infiltrated the populace to procure supplies, sending them to Hanzhou. If the rebel forces usurped the throne, he would be left in a hopeless situation. The Zhuanians might even offer him, a prince of the former dynasty, as a goodwill gift to the usurper, Chu Fengyi.
He had to survive.
Over those ten years, he grew from a child into a young man. Like a parched traveler escaping the desert in desperate need of water, he craved power—endless power—for without it, he could not sleep peacefully at night.Cold droplets fell one after another onto the back of his hand. Startled from his chaotic thoughts, he realized his crimson robe was already soaked with cold sweat. Lang Huan's slender, delicate hand still lingered on his cheek, and tears like pearls fell from her deep blue eyes.
Don’t cry. A voice, echoing like a secluded valley, whispered softly in his mind. It was as if his mother, struggling from her sickbed, had reached out to caress his face. Ji Chang, don’t cry.
He frantically wiped his cheeks, staining his sleeves with what might have been tears or sweat.
Then, with a jolt of shock, he realized that the mermaid before him had not spoken—that sweet, ethereal voice came from the depths of his own mind.
Don’t cry.
Lang Huan wiped away his unconscious tears once more. Every time her fingertips brushed his skin, he heard that gentle voice.
Startled, he knocked away that eerily beautiful hand and stepped back, only to freeze as a voice from behind made his shoulders tense.
“That’s her speaking,” Hai Shi stood at the doorway, holding a large silver wine cup, her tone cold. “Mermaids are not gods. Though Lang Huan doesn’t understand our language, she can read our past through touch, and we can hear the voice in her heart. They have dwelled in the deep sea for so long that, in their compassionate eyes, we are nothing but pitiful creatures, fleeting as mayflies.”
“Is that so?” Ji Chang rose unhurriedly, resuming the frivolous and carefree demeanor he often wore in front of others. “If mermaids are so wise, how did you, my lady, persuade her to leave her crystal grotto?”
She ignored him, walking over to Lang Huan, gathering her embroidered skirts, and crouching down. After a long silence, she murmured softly, “She merely pitied me—in the depths of the sea, she once caressed my face like this too.”
Ji Chang fell silent for a moment before asking again, “If she continues like this without eating or drinking, won’t she die?” Only he knew that beneath his light tone, a faint tremor still lingered.
Haishi brought the wine cup to Langhuan’s lips and replied without turning her head, “If I’m here, she’ll reluctantly drink a little seawater, but she won’t accept it from anyone else.” “Why not take her to the Nine-Linked Pools to soak?” “The pearl-infused waters of the Nine-Linked Pools contain powdered pearls. The moment she approaches, she becomes overwhelmed with sorrow.” Haishi watched Langhuan sip the seawater, gently stroking her damp, cool hair.
The young man in crimson robes sighed and said, “In that case, for this ceremony to send the sea goddess back, I’m afraid we’ll have to ask Lady Pearl to accompany us.” Haishi turned her head and fixed her gaze on him.
“I was the one who brought Langhuan here, and I will naturally ensure she returns safely.” Her gaze was not that of a deeply favored, peerlessly beautiful consort but rather that of a sharp, alert young warrior—vigilant and striking. She, too, was merely a pawn in the hands of fate, her future uncertain, yet she radiated a beauty as sharp and compelling as a blade’s edge. After all, time does not deceive—she was still so young.
If she were a rare treasure to be locked away and preserved, perhaps he would not have felt the need to destroy her. But she was so sharp-witted and perceptive. That day was fast approaching, and the thought of it inevitably stirred a tinge of regret in him.
In the gentle breeze of the winter night, a faint scent of dust and moisture mingled in the air, carrying with it an unusual warmth that brushed against their faces.
It was the stirrings of a storm.
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