The first year of Tianxiang should not have been a year for the rotation of garrisons at the three passes. However, with incessant warfare, the troops stationed at the passes were exhausted. Additionally, three of the Six-Winged Generals were set to leave the capital and take up posts as commanders at the frontier. Following the new emperor's enthronement ceremony, the Ministry of War submitted a petition for an exceptional garrison rotation, which was naturally approved.
In the late summer month of August, ninety thousand troops gathered outside the Vermilion Bird Gate in a stern and orderly formation. In the days leading up to the assembly, the taverns in Tianqi City remained bustling, but beneath the lively sounds of the market, an undercurrent of anxiety was palpable. The rebellion years ago had erupted precisely during the garrison rotation at Huangquan, Chengcheng, and Mohe Passes. Sixty thousand troops originally bound for Wangji and Mohe Passes had even joined the rebels, turning back to besiege the capital. The people, having only just settled after the chaos and displacement, still bore fresh scars. Even in times of peace, the sight of such a massive military presence around the city evoked lingering fear.
At the break of dawn that day, the sky remained pitch black, save for a faint, pale glimmer of light on the horizon, gray and desolate. Below the city walls, a sea of shadowy figures and banners stretched for miles, dense and silent, with only the occasional whinny of a horse, quickly soothed into quiet.
Word spread from the palace that the imperial carriage was already on its way to the Vermilion Bird Gate, accompanied by Consort Shurong, Tilan.
Torches flickered to life like scattered stars among the crowd, and soon the flames spread like a sea, illuminating the three camps. Their armor, in hues of ochre yellow, indigo blue, and deep crimson, formed distinct square formations.
After a while, the lights atop the Vermilion Bird Gate grew restless, and from either side of the gate, two black satin banners embroidered with golden coiling dragons—five feet wide and twelve feet long—were unfurled, signaling the emperor's arrival. At the sound of the drums, the ninety thousand soldiers knelt in unison, their thunderous cries of "Long live the emperor!" stirring clouds of dust into the air.
Beneath the deputy commander's banner at the front of the Huangquan Pass contingent, Tang Qianzi lifted his gaze toward the city wall. Beside the emperor in black robes stood a slender figure wrapped in a peacock-feather cloak, looking delicate against the morning chill. A eunuch nearby loudly recited the imperial edict in a long, monotonous foreign tongue she could not understand. She stood quietly before the battlements, her head bowed, as if gazing distantly at him. She was on the wall, he below—their features and expressions indistinct.
Once the inspection concluded, a cannon fired from the city wall signaled the troops to march. The three camps flowed like rivers along their respective routes: the Wuwei Camp heading west to Wangji Pass, the Chengcheng Camp to Mohe Pass, and the Huangquan Camp circling northwest to Huangquan Pass, each proceeding to their new posts.
Tang Qianzi mounted his horse and turned westward, following the commander's banner, with thirty thousand troops trailing behind him. The sky was pale gray, layered with clouds like cotton, and he could not tell when it had brightened.
The day never cleared. From morning, the sun remained hidden, yet the air felt stiflingly hot. Eunuchs carried large glass bowls, distributing ice sent by Qiyue to the various palaces within the inner court.
By afternoon, the sky had darkened as if night had fallen. Amid the churning clouds, blue-green lightning pierced through like halberds. A sudden gust of wind arose, causing the wind chimes under the eaves of Yu'an Palace to clatter wildly. Doors and windows slammed shut, and before long, heavy rain lashed down like whips.
Tilan stood by the north window. The world was pitch black, with dense white curtains of rain driven sideways by the wind, cascading like waterfalls. The distant mountains vanished into the thick, murky clouds, obscuring the path he had taken.
From then on, they would be separated by vast distances, across endless seas—unable to see each other again, and unwilling to do so. She took a few steps back and sat on the low couch woven with sappanwood brocade. Gazing at the pouring rain under the eaves, she gradually lost herself in thought and drifted into sleep.Tilan slept deeply, free from ominous dreams, embraced only by boundless darkness. Her heart felt vast and at ease, wishing only to sink endlessly into this state, never to awaken.
In the depths of her slumber, she suddenly sensed something cold and hard pressing silently against her face, exuding the metallic scent of steel.
Her eyes snapped open.
The heavy sensation remained, water droplets trickling down and seeping into her collar. She shivered violently. It was a hand, the leather lining beneath the steel gauntlet soaked through. As if afraid of waking her, it lingered on her cheek for a long while. The night was deep, the candles had been extinguished by the wind at some point, and the rain outside still poured relentlessly. The figure before her knelt on one knee beside her low couch, clad in the light armor of an imperial guard soldier, dripping wet, his features and form mostly obscured—but she recognized him.
She sat up, as if in a dream, and uttered only his name: "Zhenchu." "Come with me," he whispered, his voice low. In the darkness, only a pair of clear, tea-colored eyes shone with anxious intensity.
Tilan’s face turned deathly pale. "I won’t be manipulated by you." "I slipped out of the camp overnight, traveled seventy li to see you, and I don’t plan on going back," he said, cupping her face in his hands, refusing to let her turn away. The chill of the night rain clung to him, seeping into her skin, sending shivers through her body. Was it anger, sorrow, or joy? She couldn’t tell.
"Come with me," he repeated urgently.
"What about your mother?" she asked, bewildered.
Tang Qianzi answered without hesitation, "I’ve arranged for someone to escort you to Yunmo Town, and we’ll set sail immediately. I’ll go to Qiuye to fetch my mother, then meet you at Huobei Port to sail south together. Once we’re at sea, no one can stop us." "What about Ji Chang?" she pressed.
He shook his head. "He’s a grown man." "And your official position?" "I don’t want it. None of it," he said, suddenly smiling. "I’ll take you away. We’ll become pirates."
She stared at him in a daze, and after a long while, as if gradually comprehending, she shook her head and forcefully pushed his hands away.
"It’s too late, Zhenchu," she said, her thick curls cascading down, obscuring her face.
"Tilan..." he exclaimed, almost panicked, grabbing her shoulders again and gazing down at her intently.
"If the imperial consort and a general flee in the dead of night, it would be a terrible disgrace to both nations. What if the emperor and Uncle Yingjia refuse to let it go and reignite the war? What if the pursuit documents and troops reach Qiuye first and detain your mother?" Tilan suddenly lifted her eyes. Her gaze was heavy and scorching, like a wildfire burning to its end, unbearably intense in its final moment.
"We can always find a way," he said hoarsely, though his resolve seemed to waver.
"Zhenchu, you can’t afford the price. If these things come to pass, you will surely regret it," she said, smiling as the fierce light in her eyes gradually cooled. "But you’re a sensible man. You won’t blame me; you’ll only hate yourself, for a lifetime."
He watched her. A flash of lightning briefly ignited his pupils, then vanished in an instant."It's too late." Tilan shook her head calmly. "Return to the camp... while the sky is still dark." The young warrior abruptly pulled her into a tight embrace. His strength was so fierce, it seemed he wanted to crush her bones, grind her to dust, and then mold a new Tilan from his own flesh and blood. The edges of his steel-scale armor felt like countless blunt knives, cold and damp, carving pain deep into her skin. She endured it in silence. This pain was his mark upon her, seared into her very marrow, indelible for all eternity.
A thunderclap cracked, rumbling over the rooftops. Tilan closed her eyes, as if witnessing countless worlds collapsing in ruin, stars burning to ash, swept away by the endless torrents of rain. Sparks swirled in the darkness, falling into an unfathomable abyss.
That night, thunder roared. But all that burns must eventually be extinguished.
When Tilan awoke the next day, it was a brilliantly clear morning. If not for the open window and the scattered leaves on the ground, she might have doubted whether the storm of the previous night had ever truly occurred.
In the second year of Tianxiang, at the start of the new year, Emperor Xu issued an edict ordering a search for imperial relatives and nobles across the land.
By late spring, the governor of Baiyan County submitted a memorial, claiming to have found Princess Yanling and her consort. Princess Yanling, Chu Linlang, was the full sister of Prince Chang, with the childhood name "Peony." She had been abducted by rebel soldiers at the summer palace in her fiefdom when she was only thirteen.
When Tilan first met Princess Yanling, her heart chilled, and the teacup in her hand fell to the floor. She recalled the haunting nightmare from two years prior. In that dream, the figure pierced by a long arrow, falling from the high city wall, remained vivid in her memory—and it was none other than the graceful, smiling woman before her.
After days of hesitation, she finally sent a trusted messenger to deliver a letter to Ji Chang, but no reply ever came. Tilan understood all too well that those fragmented images, uncertain in time and place, were beyond her control. Fate was treacherous, full of bewildering twists. If one could not escape it, why tear open the curtain of the final act prematurely, only to shatter the peace of the present? From the eighth month of the second year of Tianxiang to the following spring, half of the Six-Winged Generals had met untimely deaths—from falling off horses, difficult childbirths, and rebellions. Only three of the generals who had followed Emperor Xu in his early campaigns to quell rebellions remained.
On the fourth day of the intercalary second month of the third year of Tianxiang, Lord Qinghai, Fang Jianming, died suddenly of a heart ailment. He was granted the imperial surname. Posthumously, he was given the title "Jingyi Wang"—"Jing" for his gentle virtue and peaceful demeanor, "Yi" for his resolute and conquering spirit.
In June, Gu Dacheng, commander of the Mohe Camp, was killed by a wandering warrior for allowing his troops to plunder.
In July, Su Ming, commander of the Huangquan Camp, received an edict ordering his return to the capital to assume Fang Jianming's position as Zhenyuan Envoy. He was the last surviving member of the Six-Winged Generals. The military affairs of Huangquan Pass were temporarily handed over to his deputy, Tang Qianzi.
On the thirtieth day of the tenth month of the third year of Tianxiang, Princess Yanling attempted to poison Emperor Xu but failed and fled. Pursued by the Imperial Guard to the corner tower of the outer city, she was struck by two arrows. She pulled out the arrow that had pierced her chest and leaped from the five-zhang-high tower, falling to her death on the splendid Yongle Avenue. Before her death, she declared herself the illegitimate daughter of Prince Fenyang, Nie Jingwen, and a cousin of Princess Yanling and Prince Chang. Her voice was sharp and clear, heard by all the commoners below. Prince Fenyang, Nie Jingwen, had joined Chu Fengyi's rebellion years before. After the rebellion failed, his clan was exterminated. This woman, relying on her striking resemblance, had impersonated the princess to enter the palace and seek revenge.The public was in an uproar, with rumors swirling that the Princess of Yanling was actually the real one, who had personally attempted to poison Emperor Xu in order to assist Prince Chang in usurping the throne but had failed. To protect Prince Chang, she had falsely claimed to be the illegitimate daughter of the Prince of Fenyang and died by leaping from the city walls. Most people dismissed these rumors as absurd jokes, for Prince Chang’s frivolous and shallow ambitions were well-known even among the common folk.
A few days later, the first plum blossoms of early winter bloomed in the inner gardens. Prince Chang took the lead in clamoring for an evening of lanterns, wine, and flower viewing. That night, Tilán was also present. She noticed that he drank hastily, his eyes hazy with drunkenness, yet beneath it all, a sliver of sharp clarity remained, like a frosty chill hidden deep within.
On the eleventh day of the fourth month the following year, the Garrison Envoy Su Ming was dispatched to Shangzhou. It wasn’t until mid-June that news arrived: the envoy’s party had encountered a sandstorm before even leaving the borders and had vanished without a trace in the desert between Juzi and Dumulan.
When the news of Su Ming’s disappearance reached the palace, Emperor Xu spent that night in the Palace of Eternal Peace. In the fleeting moment between wakefulness and sleep, he held Tilán by the waist and murmured, "Zizan," before drifting into a deep slumber.
Tilán gently propped herself up, leaning over him to move the silk lampshade aside and extinguish the lamp. In the warm red glow of the candlelight, she faintly glimpsed a glistening moisture between Emperor Xu’s eyelashes.
From the twenty-seventh year of the Lintai era to the present, it had only been twelve years. The legendary tales of Chu Zhongxu and the Six-Winged Generals during the chaotic times had come to an end, like a song finishing and the crowd dispersing. Those years of riding like the wind were later adapted into folk operas, sung for years in marketplaces and taverns. The final act, where the music falls silent and prosperity fades, was clearly titled in the scripts: "Severing the Six Wings."
Tilán often felt that life in the palace was long, yet the seasons turned, and so many days flowed by like a river, leaving no trace behind.
She rarely encountered Fang Zhu, the Chief Steward of the Phoenix Court. Although he was a palace official, he lived in seclusion and seldom ventured beyond the Golden City Palace, where Emperor Xu resided. It was no wonder—his original identity had already been declared dead in the historical records, with a posthumous title bestowed and his spirit tablet placed in the ancestral temple. Yet he had changed his attire and now lived out the remainder of his life quietly in the shadows. Gazing at his familiar, composed face and the scar near his lips that seemed to hint at a smile, she often wondered what thoughts had driven this man to abandon his noble title and enter the palace to serve.
The four garrison commanders of Huangquan, Chengcheng, Mohe, and the Capital Region, along with the commander of the Imperial Guard, all appointed at the beginning of Emperor Xu’s reign, were no longer in their positions. In the summer of the fourth year of the Tianxiang era, the deputy commanders who had taken over their duties were summoned to the capital to report and were promoted to full commanders. The triennial garrison rotation, originally scheduled for the following year, was also moved forward. The commander of Huangquan Pass, Tang Qian, was twenty-seven years old, the youngest among the newly appointed generals.
Life in the Palace of Eternal Peace was uneventful, with the same familiar faces coming and going. The only things that occupied Tilán’s mind were the seasonal changes in attire and the subtle shades of her makeup. Tang Qian sometimes came to the capital twice a year, while at other times, he did not appear for several years. Tilán had entered the palace at a young age and gradually grew into a radiantly beautiful woman. Though fluent in the Eastern Continent’s language, she remained mostly silent in her daily life. She kept a Western Continent’s Three-Ways Falcon, which was already old and could no longer deliver messages. Once, a palace maid happened upon her stroking the falcon’s dull feathers, her usually cold and aloof expression replaced by a dazed tenderness.On the day at court when Di Xu first laid eyes on Consort Shurong, Tilan, his shock was palpable. Within half a month of her being enfeoffed as a consort, he took her along to review the troops—a privilege traditionally reserved for the empress. Everyone said it was certain that Consort Shurong would enjoy exclusive favor, and her elevation to empress was only a matter of time. Yet no one could have predicted that during the Zhuque Gate military reviews in the ninth and fourteenth years of the Tianxiang era, Di Xu would never again attend in person, and Consort Shurong would remain merely Consort Shurong.
From the thirteenth year of Tianxiang onward, the treasury of the Zheng dynasty faced a shortage of storage space, leading to the exchange of silver coins for gold. The market price of gold soared for months, attracting merchants from the Western Continent who flocked to profit, bringing vast quantities of gold into the Eastern Continent. Over seventy to eighty percent of the world's gold originated from Zhongzhou, while Lei and Yun provinces had no gold mines. By the summer of the fourteenth year of Tianxiang, even gold ingots in the Zheng treasury had nowhere to be stored, yet the gold coins circulating in the markets of the Western Continent were nearly depleted.
The Director of the Treasury submitted a memorial requesting the expansion of storage facilities. Di Xu glanced at it briefly and, with a vermilion brush, decreed that all taxes would be exempted for the next ten years. He ordered half of the national treasury's wealth to be used for building embankments and public granaries across the land. The Director of the Treasury fainted on the spot. Di Xu laughed and remarked, "Such pettiness. Hoarding without spending is the behavior of a miser." Historical records of Di Xu's later years, filled with his irrational and reckless actions, never fail to include this episode.
Seizing the opportunity, the nations of the Western Continent began buying back gold in large quantities. However, in just the latter half of the seventh month, the gold flowing out of the Zheng treasury accounted for one-third of the gold circulating in the Eastern Continent. The price of gold soon plummeted below the early parity of fifty taels of silver to one tael of gold and continued to fall sharply. The Western nations, having just replenished their reserves, saw the value of their gold plummet, losing nearly half of their wealth. Public discontent grew, and many gold merchants stranded in the Eastern Continent and Hanzhou, unable to repay their debts, took their own lives.
After the winter hunt in the thirteenth year of Tianxiang, Di Xu enfeoffed a new consort, Consort Chun of the Fang clan, also known as "Lady Pearl." Palace maids whispered that she was the adopted daughter of Fang Zhu, the Chief Steward of the Phoenix Court, raised as a boy and trained in martial arts. She often attended the emperor in male attire. Tilan met Consort Chun on several occasions—a rare beauty whose delicate features were imbued with a spirited vigor.
Before the following year's Beginning of Spring, envoys from the Western Continent gathered in Hanzhou to collect the remains of the bankrupt gold merchants who had committed suicide and to provide relief to their families. They were then escorted by troops from Huangquan Pass to the imperial capital.
On the fourteenth day of the first month that year, a lavish banquet was held on the eve of the Beginning of Spring, featuring rare delicacies and a grand display of music and dance. Envoys from seven nations—Nihualuo, Nanpi, Zhunian, Xifu, Yangjita, Tuhuolu, and Jiaman—were all invited and gathered in the main hall of Junlei Palace. The head of the delegation was Prince Suolan of Zhunian. Tilan attended exceptionally, reuniting with her younger brother Suolan after fifteen years apart. He was now a young man of twenty-four.
On the fourteenth day of the first month of the fifteenth year, local tributes included a mermaid. Di Xu displayed it to the foreign envoys, all of whom expressed admiration and submission. Thus, the Beginning of Spring Alliance was formed, pledging eternal peace and the cessation of warfare for generations to come.
—Zheng Shu, Basic Annals, Emperor Xu
Suolan paced back and forth restlessly, as if trapped in a cage.
In the small chamber of Yu'an Palace, everything was arranged in the Zhunian style—comfortable and leisurely. Tilan had dismissed the attending palace staff and entered carrying a plate of golden-thread candied walnuts.Su Lan suddenly turned his head and said, "Elder Sister, you shouldn't have married him. Had I known you were going to wed such a mad emperor, I would never have let you come!" Ti Lan smiled faintly and replied, "And how could you have stopped me? You were only nine when I came to the Eastern Continent." She then handed the candied walnut to Su Lan. "Here, your favorite." Su Lan, both angered and amused, gently pushed the plate away. "Elder Sister, I'm no longer a child." She lifted her gaze to him. "Indeed, you've grown so tall." Her expression was bright and tender, still reminiscent of the blind little princess from years ago. A sudden pang of sorrow struck Su Lan. He took the plate and set it aside, then grasped her slender hand, speaking with childlike clumsiness, "Elder Sister, back then you carried me to escape danger. Now it's my turn to rescue you." Ti Lan was taken aback.
Su Lan continued in one breath, "If this mad emperor lives a few more years, the Western Continent nations will be drained dry. Our journey to the Eastern Continent was planned—we intended to meet Chu Ji Chang. We’ve already sent envoys for a secret meeting, and he has agreed that once he ascends the throne, the imperial treasury will reclaim the gold. Chu Ji Chang has long harbored ambitions; his forces are ready. The deputy commander of the Near Garrison is his man. When the time comes, they’ll remove the commander and use the Near Garrison to suppress the Imperial Guard, securing seven-tenths of Tianqi. He had also negotiated with the Left Pudu King of the northern barbarians for a feigned attack on Huangquan Pass in spring to tie down the entire Han Province’s forces. But last month, the Left Pudu King was killed, and that plan fell through. Once the uprising begins, Chu Ji Chang will order the Huangquan Garrison to split forces and cross south under the pretext of protecting the emperor. Once they reach the capital region, they can suppress the Cheng and Mohe Garrisons." Ti Lan listened quietly until this point, then shook her head and interrupted, "The troops from Huangquan Pass will not come. If there’s any real danger of northern barbarian cavalry invading and harming the people, Zhen Chu would never leave Huangquan Pass for even a moment." Su Lan chuckled dismissively. "Tang Qian Zi is not a soft-hearted man. Not only would he obey Chu Ji Chang’s orders, but as long as you remain in Tianqi, Elder Sister, he will surely come." Ti Lan’s raven-black hair, lustrous under the lamplight, lay still like waves carved from ebony, cascading down her back. After a long silence, she finally spoke, "If he were the type to let go so easily, I wouldn’t have endured these fifteen years of torment." Su Lan sighed. "Elder Sister, you needn’t worry about this. When the time comes, I will ensure Chu Ji Chang sends guards to protect you—it will be foolproof." "When will that be?" "The first day of February. Chu Ji Chang is sending the Dragon-Tail God back to the Vast Sea—you heard it at the banquet earlier. With the rebellion in the capital, he needs to avoid the conflict, and heading out to sea is the best option." Ti Lan smiled faintly. Ji Chang was always so meticulous, committing the act of usurpation but unwilling to bear the name. He loved everything grand and flawless, or at least the appearance of it. She recalled fifteen years ago, when the fleet sailed into Quanming Harbor, he looked down at the swarming crowds below the deck, his eyes sharp and cold. If not for Emperor Xu, Chu Ji Chang might well have made a good emperor. The punch he had held back years ago in her father’s bedchamber now gathered force once more, ready to shatter the chains that had confined his blazing ambition.He must still remember the nightmare she had when she was eight—that he would one day die at sea. Yet Tilán also knew that, given Ji Chang’s temperament, he would never let go of this slim chance. Rather than face total defeat, he would take the risk. To seize what he had yearned for since childhood, even if he already foresaw the bleak outcome, he would still walk this path.
Suolan continued, "The envoys from our Zhuoran, Nihualuo, and Tuhuolu will accompany him—partly to avoid suspicion, and partly to keep a close watch in case he turns ruthless." Tilán’s heart sank abruptly. "You cannot go," she said. "I must go," Suolan replied. "I am the crown prince, but not the eldest legitimate son. Countless people are waiting on the sidelines, ready to seize the throne the moment Uncle Yingjia passes away... If even those closest to me see me as a weak coward, who would be willing to follow me?" As he spoke, his handsome brows furrowed deeply.
A chill ran through Tilán’s body, her vision dimmed, yet she struggled to keep her voice low as she snapped, "Have you stopped listening to me now? Chu Ji Chang is fated to die at sea—who knows on which voyage his ship will capsize and he’ll perish? Do you intend to risk your life alongside him? If I had known it would come to this, I should never have saved you back then!" Her slender hands gripped Suolan tightly, her nails digging deep into his flesh.
Suolan gently but firmly pushed her away and said, "Elder Sister, my courage is no less than Chu Ji Chang’s. Wait for our safe return in Tianqi—there is no need to worry about anything else." With long strides, he walked out of the small pavilion, descended the stairs, and left on his own.
Tilan stood motionless, a chill running through her body in waves. She had considered it—even threatening self-harm if it meant keeping Solan by her side would have been worth it. But in that fleeting moment, she had seen the expression on Solan’s face: a body ablaze with fierce, vibrant fire, illuminating his entire being, yet at the core of his heart lay an unyielding block of ice. Young men like him possessed the intimidating eyes of wild beasts—sometimes dim, sometimes restrained, sharp and cold or frenzied, but never submissive or retreating. What burned within him was ambition; what remained cold as iron was his will—unstoppable and unchangeable.
He was so much like Jichang.
Tilan slowly sank to the floor, tears finally streaming down her face in silence. She knew she had lost this younger brother.
To escort the Dragon-Tail God back to the Vast Sea, Prince Chang and the envoys from three kingdoms set out east from Tianqi on the first day of the second month. Accompanying them were Consort Chunrong of the Fang clan, leading sixty court ladies, and an escort of eight thousand imperial guards.
Seven days later, at dawn, Tilan vaguely felt what seemed like the scorching summer wind blowing against her face in waves, or perhaps the burning heat of sunlight. She jolted awake, only to realize it was not sunlight but fire. Rising, she rushed barefoot to the window and saw that Yu’an Palace was already surrounded and guarded by several hundred Imperial Forest Army soldiers. From the direction of Kaiping Gate came the terrifying sounds of iron and stone crashing and beams collapsing, as tens of thousands of soldiers from the Near-Capital Garrison, pushing over a dozen iron-horned siege chariots, clamored and roared.
The door to her small chamber was suddenly pushed open. Startled, she jumped up, clutching her chest tightly as she turned to look. The man who entered was tall and sturdy, with a thick, curly beard, wearing the insignia of the Ten-Thousand Cavalry and clad in light armor. Strangely, his attire was indigo blue—the uniform of Huangquan Pass. She vaguely felt she had seen him somewhere before, then remembered: he was the deputy general from Huangquan Pass who had escorted Solan south from Hanzhou, seated at the far end of the outer hall during the Lichun night banquet. The soldier gave a slight bow at the door and said, "This humble general is Zhang Chengqian. Please rest assured, Consort Shurong, the rebels will absolutely not breach this place." His words were brief, a habit from years of military service, and he departed hastily after speaking.
Tilan’s heart turned cold. This man was not one of Jichang’s trusted officers from the Near-Capital Garrison sent to protect her but was aligned with the Imperial Forest Army guarding the forbidden city.
War drums thundered like ten thousand galloping horses, shaking the earth. All nine outer halls—Qianxuan, Kunrong, Jiujing, Dinghe, Wencheng, Wude, Xiangyun, Junlei, and Zichen—had fallen. Ningtai Gate had been breached, and the rebels had stormed into the inner palace. From the direction of Renzhe Palace, crimson banners were raised against the wind, and a tide of people, like leaden clouds carrying storms and thunder, surged toward the Golden City Palace.
The shouts of the crowd merged into a roaring tide that pierced the heavens, the clashing of swords and blades ringing incessantly. Waves of voices receded again and again, only to surge forward more violently each time, shattering against the red walls of Yu’an Palace. Arrows, dense as rain, shattered the window lattices—some with their tips removed and wrapped in oil-soaked cotton, igniting recklessly upon hitting the ground. At the most critical moment, the rebels from the Near-Capital Garrison had broken into the eastern side hall of Yu’an Palace, meaning Jichang’s men were only steps away from her. Yet, reinforcements from the Imperial Forest Army continued to arrive, quickly swarming to fill the breached gaps, shielding her as they retreated further into the small chamber and holding the rebels at bay.This was the first and last close-quarters battle within the Forbidden City during the Tianxiang era. Blood flowed like a spring, trickling down the vermilion steps, corpses clogged the imperial moat, and the carnage was no less gruesome than when Prince Yi’s rebellion had breached the city and slaughtered the imperial clan. After two full days of fighting, the rebel forces had lost over ten thousand men within the palace walls alone. Layers of blood pooled on the blue-glazed stone pavement, refusing to dry. Military boots trod through the gaps between bodies, stepping into thin, dark-red mud, slipping with every step.
Tilan, trapped in her sorrowful palace, grew restless whenever she thought of Suolan. She repeatedly questioned the Imperial Guard soldiers guarding Yu’an Palace about the situation outside. The soldiers remained respectful but consistently claimed ignorance of the current state of affairs, stating they were merely following orders and refusing to let her step beyond the palace gates. Nearly a thousand corpses lay uncollected beneath the walls of Yu’an Palace. At night, the foul wind carried the moans of dying soldiers, and stagnant yellow-green filth pooled atop the bloody mud, emitting an unbearable stench.
On the afternoon of the fourth day, the bearded general named Zhang Chengqian arrived. He only informed her that she was to be moved elsewhere and refused to answer any further questions. Despite her repeated inquiries, he remained tight-lipped. With a wave of his hand, several court ladies surrounded her, half-guiding, half-dragging her away.
Struggling, Tilan turned her head to face him and spoke word by word, "General Zhang, tell me." The woman from Zhuni had her glossy black hair completely disheveled, covering her face, yet it could not conceal her frantic, blazing eyes, which sent a chill down one’s spine. "Has that ship... capsized?" Zhang Chengqian had received the urgent report just half an hour earlier and had not anticipated Tilan’s question. Unable to suppress his expression, he simply acknowledged it and said, "At present, only Consort Chun Rong has survived." To his surprise, Tilan trembled all over but did not cry. She merely stared at him blankly, as if nodding. Pale and fragile, she resembled a paper-cut figure, her large, lifeless eyes like two faint ink dots on white paper, blurring and spreading. She obediently allowed the court ladies to escort her out.
On the eleventh day of the second month, she was temporarily relocated to a side hall of Fengwu Palace. When the rebellion broke out, Consort Chun Rong, Lady Fang, was far out at sea. With no master in Fengwu Palace, most of the palace attendants and eunuchs had fled, and though the place had been looted, it remained relatively clean. Zhang Chengqian assigned a hundred and fifty soldiers to guard the palace day and night, ostensibly for her protection but effectively placing her under house arrest.
The palace attendants who came to serve her revealed that Emperor Xu had already passed away on the seventh day. Before his death, he had been pierced by blades but still managed to slay dozens of rebel soldiers before succumbing to exhaustion. Fang Zhu, the chief of the Phoenix Court, who had been by his side, had also perished. Tilan was not surprised, but everything had happened so quickly that she still felt dazed. She had spent half her life in shackles—breaking free from one set only to be bound by another, never knowing true freedom. Now that the cage that had confined her for fifteen years had truly collapsed, she found herself adrift, with nowhere to go.
She recalled her childhood, when every midsummer, her uncle Yingjia would send her ice bowls. They were made from large blocks of ice, carved into translucent, glazed-like bowls, with shaved ice crushed into snow-like powder inside, accompanied by assorted rare fruits and fragrant honey. In the perpetually hot Western Continent, it was an extraordinary treat. She loved the cool, smooth ice bowls and would cling to them, refusing to let go. Yet, the tighter she held them, the faster they melted. In no more than a quarter of an hour, they would dissolve into a trickle of icy water, slipping through her fingers and leaving behind a bone-chilling cold.Her life had been like a fragile ice cup. Her parents, brothers, closest friends, and lovers—everyone she tried to hold onto—had drifted away from her for one reason or another. With each step she took, countless diverging paths sprawled beneath her feet, each leading in a different direction. In the end, everyone walked alone.
Tilan remained in Fengwu Palace until July, when the Forbidden City suddenly buzzed with commotion. Consort Chun, Lady Fang, had survived a shipwreck, and the imperial physicians accompanying her diagnosed her with a nearly two-month pregnancy. She had no choice but to stay in Yuezhou to rest and stabilize her condition. As soon as her health showed slight improvement, she insisted on returning to Tianqi. By then, her procession was already nearing the capital.
From February to now, a full five months had passed, and the garrison at Huangquan Pass had not moved a single soldier or rider toward the capital. Though Tang Qianzhi was not a man of pure kindness, he would never recklessly open the northern strategic pass and invite invaders. Since the upheaval, palace news had been tightly sealed. Rumors in Tianqi claimed that Consort Shu, Tilan, had disappeared amidst the chaos of the rebellion. Even if he had sent someone to find her, they would have been unable to trace her whereabouts.
Tilan gazed down at the scarred imperial capital, the warm spring breeze lifting her flowing, enchanting hair. She had always known he was that kind of man.
Outside, a palace attendant announced that General Zhang Chengqian had arrived. Deputy Commander Fu Yi of the Jingji Garrison had rebelled and assassinated the emperor, only to be slain by Emperor Xu himself. The garrison commander, He Yao, had been imprisoned by Fu Yi and was near death by the time he was rescued. In recent months, Zhang Chengqian had effectively become the foremost figure holding military power in the capital. His long absence from visiting her signaled to Tilan that his intentions were likely far from benevolent. Yet, with others holding the knife and her the fish, she might as well face it with composure. After all, she had nothing left to lose and no reason to harbor fear.
Zhang Chengqian wasted no time on pleasantries, offering a slight bow before stating, "Please pack some simple belongings at once. I will escort you on your journey." Tilan had assumed he had come to take her life, but if that were the case, there would be no need to pack anything. Puzzled, she asked, "Where am I going?" "North," Zhang Chengqian replied with a firm, straightforward smile.
Zhang Chengqian led the way, and she hurriedly followed him out of the side hall, winding their way to the palace gate where two to three hundred soldiers awaited. Having been confined for months, Tilan was momentarily dazzled by the sudden blaze of sunlight and quickly tightened her turquoise velvet cloak. Surrounded by the soldiers, she proceeded along the broad blue-glazed stone path heading south. Just as they were about to turn toward Chuihua Gate in front of Jifeng Hall, a procession of carriages and ceremonial guards approached from the south. As it drew nearer, she could see the leading palanquin was of consort rank. The soldiers halted in unison, and at a command, they retreated to the sides of the path, kneeling on one knee, leaving Tilan standing alone.
The magnificent, gilded palanquin with its eighteen bearers and upturned corners slowly passed before her, then paused briefly. A corner of the purple-gold brocade curtain was lifted, revealing a girl inside, no more than sixteen or seventeen years old. Though adorned in solemn, heavy makeup, her weariness was evident, yet the traces of a once-bold and spirited demeanor lingered in her eyes. She looked at Tilan, offered a faint smile, then let the curtain fall as the palanquin moved forward once more.
That was Consort Chun, Lady Fang, the adopted daughter of the Chief Eunuch Fang Zhu, also known as Lady Pearl. At that time, she was six months pregnant, and the child she carried would be born in October of that year, named Chu Weiyun. In November, Chu Weiyun ascended the throne as Emperor Yun, adopting the reign title Jingheng. Consort Chun was elevated to Empress Dowager and served as regent for twenty-two years. Zhang Chengqian gained deep trust and, by the time Emperor Yun came of age to rule independently, had risen to the position of Minister of War.That year, winter arrived exceptionally early at Yellowspring Pass, with snow falling as soon as October.
As dusk approached, the sky, earth, and distant mountains were all swallowed by a murky haze. Only the heavy snowflakes continued ceaselessly, softly pelting against people's faces. A cavalry of two to three hundred men trudged northward through the blizzard, appearing as nothing more than a crawling black line across the blindingly bright, vast expanse of snow.
Two hours earlier, sporadic flickers of firelight had been faintly visible in the distance, yet they never seemed to draw nearer. It was only when the sky had turned completely dark that the sentinels at the camp's entrance came into view. The leader of the cavalry reined in his horse, pushed back his snow cloak, and revealed a resolute face framed by a thick beard. "Where is the commander?" he asked. "There is a visitor." The sentinel recognized him as Zhang Chengqian, an adjutant from the pass, and promptly stood at attention, saluting while stealing a glance at the figure on the other horse. Even wrapped in a heavy snow cloak, the visitor appeared short and slight, nothing like a military man.
Inside the barracks, the lamplight cast a soft, warm glow. Books and scrolls lay scattered across the desk, and if not for the armor and swords hanging on the rack in the corner, it would hardly seem like the quarters of a frontier commander. After all these years, the man was still lean. He lay slumped over the desk, his fur robe having slipped off, revealing the sharp, gaunt lines of his shoulders and back.
The cloaked figure quietly closed the door behind them, hesitated for a moment, and then moved forward silently. The man at the desk was fast asleep, his face serene. The faint yellow light softened the harsh traces of wind and frost on his features, revealing the gentle elegance of his youth. Beside his hand rested a celadon wine bowl. The wine, clear as water, shimmered with a strange silvery light, its sweet, crisp fragrance wafting subtly to the nose. The cloaked figure reached out, picked up the bowl, and examined it closely. At the bottom lay something shriveled, partially unfurled from soaking, translucent and pale green, as if cut from sheer gauze.
It was Xieluo —a peculiar flower that, when dried and steeped in wine, could grant a dream with each blossom. What could not be obtained remained out of reach; what could not be retained slipped away forever. This flower offered a brief three hours, allowing one to relive fleeting moments of happiness and behold faces they would never see again in this lifetime. Yet, so many were willing to pay the steep price for it. Like an addictive poison, this flower, paired with mellow wine, filled the bottomless voids in countless hearts night after night.
The man slept deeply, his breathing even.
Tilan removed her snow cloak and drained the remaining wine in the bowl. The clear, cool liquid flowed down, burning her throat like fire, and a wave of warmth spread from her chest to her limbs. Her icy hands gradually warmed, and the exhaustion from her long journey surged over her all at once.
She sat quietly on the floor, resting her head on his knee, and closed her eyes, sinking into a profound slumber.
She dreamed of that sunny late spring day, the sunlight warming her to the bone. She was fourteen, floating on the Papar River in a large wooden basin filled with pristine lotus buds. In the dream, someone held her hand—warm and firm, as if unwilling to let go for a lifetime.
Even as the wild plains outside the window lay buried in twilight snow, and the mountain passes stood firm as iron.
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