On the first day of the first lunar month, during the Spring Banquet held on the Beginning of Spring, the Zixiao Palace was ablaze with brilliant lights, adorned with rare delicacies and dancers with sleeves billowing like clouds.
Zhao Yang, dressed in black brocade embroidered with golden coiled dragons, accompanied by multicolored clouds representing the sun, moon, and five elements, wore a high crown of green jade wrapped in gold with nine tassels. His heroic posture was accentuated by his tied-up hair, sword-like eyebrows extending to his temples, and a faint smile at the corners of his lips as he sat in the first seat to the left below the emperor's throne, hosting the civil and military officials of the entire court.
Today was the Spring Banquet of Daxia.
Despite the bitter cold outside, the swirling snow, the ongoing conflicts in the northwest, the northeastern tribes clamoring for independence, crop failures, and flooding rivers, the court was rife with covert struggles and open disputes among civil and military officials. Yet, none of this diminished the surface extravagance and opulence: glazed tiles and embroidered silks, rare delicacies and fine wines, beauties with jade-like complexions and slender, willow-like waists. Wine vessels were overturned, their fragrant contents sweet as honey, while thousands of white oxhide lanterns illuminated the grand hall. Leaders from major military regions such as Baizhi, Xiliao, Chaoge, Yaosheng, Beihai, and Dongjin, along with feudal lords, garrison commanders, court officials, and heads of prominent families, all gathered in this grand assembly. In this traditionally peaceful and luxurious festival, they celebrated yet another spring of "favorable weather and bountiful harvests" for the mighty Daxia.
No one would mention the disheartening wars or the court rivalries today. In the warmth of wine, even sworn enemies sat shoulder to shoulder, drinking, reveling, and flirting with the stunning beauties in their arms. The hall was filled with an atmosphere of song and dance, peace and prosperity. The empire's nobles occasionally raised their cups and turned their gazes toward the throne—not the main seat, but to toast the young fourteenth prince who had risen to power at a tender age.
Had it been three years ago, perhaps no one would have imagined such a day. Even Wei Guang, the old fox of the Wei Clan renowned for his sharp insight, had not foreseen that in just three short years, a young man once struggling in the mud would ascend to such heights in a single leap.
But now, the Daxia imperial family had withered. Zhao Qi and Zhao Jue were dead, Zhao Che had been demoted, and Zhao Song had lost an arm and was disabled. Only the fourteenth prince remained to uphold the crumbling edifice. Thus, even the prestigious Wei Clan had no choice but to bow before this prince and wholeheartedly support his rise to power.
Seated high in the hall, Zhao Yang watched as a general from Chaoge approached to offer a toast. He lightly raised his cup and nodded, drinking the wine. The general from Chaoge expressed his profound admiration and loyalty to Zhao Yang and, upon receiving a slight nod in response, withdrew from the platform with great delight.
Amid the shimmering lights, a group of courtesans stepped into the hall, their sleeves held high and their exposed waists as supple as water snakes, instantly capturing the attention of all present.
In the shadows, Zhao Yang curled the corners of his lips slightly, revealing a faint, almost imperceptible cold smile.
He still remembered that general. Just four years ago, in this very hall, he had been seated in a lower position due to his humble status. That general, on his way to toast Zhao Qi, accidentally stepped on his robe, spilling wine all over him. Back then, the general had merely frowned at him, snorted disdainfully, muttered "bad luck," and walked away without a second glance.
In just four years, that same general had become so courteous and polite.
The fickleness of human nature was truly astounding.Zhao Yang slightly turned his head, his eyes glancing sideways at the throne concealed within layers of shadows. He gazed for a long time, the lamplight casting a hazy expression on his face. Now seated here, his eyes beheld a court full of splendid canopies, and his ears heard nothing but songs of praise and peace. Suddenly, he felt that the distance which once seemed so far away was now within reach.
At the moment the music and dance ceased, he decisively turned back, resuming his previous expression and demeanor. Moonlight from outside pierced through the hall's doors, accompanied by a gentle breeze that lifted a corner of the delicate gauze curtain. A cautious guard subtly sniffed the air and whispered to another guard beside him, "Do you smell smoke?"
The other guard also sniffed but shook his head in confusion. "You must be mistaken."
"Am I?"
The guard dared not speak further. This was the imperial inner court, the grand spring banquet in the main hall—who would dare light a fire nearby?
The moonlight drifted through the hall, carried by the wind into the deep palace gates. The long-sealed Chengguang Ancestral Temple, however, was engulfed in a haze of smoke and ash. The choking dust and remnants of aged incense ash, like a pale silk sheet, were torn into scattered fragments by a sudden cold gust.
In the dim depths of the hall, the jewels and pearls adorning the emperor's throne shimmered like flowing light in the dark, sharply dispelling the pervasive silence. Yet the floating dust swirled chaotically around, like lingering resentful spirits unwilling to disperse.
The Zhengde Emperor, who should have been seated in the Zixiao Hall, sat alone in the vast, cold emptiness of the Chengguang Ancestral Temple. Before him stood a grand and towering memorial altar, densely lined with shadowy spirit tablets. So high and so dense, they reached up to the ceiling like countless pairs of ghostly eyes, silently watching him. Time seemed to flow from the abyss, carrying the winds of the underworld as it passed through the spirit tablets, emitting a low, mournful hum.
A sharp crack abruptly shattered the hall's dead silence. A crystal cup in the emperor's hand fell to the ground, shattering into seven or eight pieces. The bright red wine within spilled onto the floor, emitting a strange fragrance as it meandered along the patterns of the incense ash.
The emperor, who had been dozing in his chair, was startled awake. He opened his bleary eyes, a faint, aged smile curling at his lips. With a light tone, he softly said, "Playing tricks on me again."
His voice was warm, even carrying a hint of laughter, yet in such surroundings, it sounded eerily sinister and chilling. A young eunuch guarding the door trembled slightly, cautiously peeking inside, only to be abruptly kicked hard by an old eunuch.
"Get outside."
The old eunuch spoke unhurriedly. The young eunuch hurriedly knelt on the ground, too frightened to breathe heavily, and soon crawled backward out of the hall.
The old eunuch picked up a nearby cup of wine, slowly approached, and placed it on the table beside the throne. He refilled the emperor's cup, his uniquely soft eunuch's voice saying, "Your Majesty, is the Empress playing with you again?"
"Yes," the emperor replied with a chuckle, turning his head. "You know how she is—always fond of mischief and so unconventional. Where is the dignity befitting the mother of the nation?"The old eunuch did not smile, merely replying in his usual tone, "If Her Majesty the Empress hears Your Majesty speak like this, she will be upset with you again."
The emperor chuckled softly, shook his head, then shifted to a more comfortable position on the spacious dragon throne and murmured, "I shall see if she is upset or not."
Then he closed his eyes.
In recent years, the imperial court had undergone many changes. The Muhe Empress had long passed away, leaving the position of empress vacant. Before her, the emperor had also conferred the title upon several other empresses. It was unclear which one he referred to with that single word "she" now.
The old eunuch kept his head lowered, ignoring the shattered glass on the floor. Instead, he picked up a tiny blade of grass from the spilled wine and carefully placed it into a golden box. He then retreated into the shadows, his dark blue robes merging with the funeral-like night, as if swallowed by an endless black sea, vanishing without a trace.
The auspicious hour for the spring banquet was approaching. Palace attendants carrying lanterns passed through the gates, lighting the lamps one by one. The translucent radiance pierced through the lonely depths of the palace, adorning the resplendent halls and towers even more dazzlingly, like a shimmering pearl. Boisterous laughter and chatter drifted from the front halls, wave after wave of heavy sound. Voices offering birthday wishes to the emperor pierced the tranquil night. Bells rang out, and countless civil and military officials bowed like tides—from the Purple Heaven Hall to the winding cloud-paths, spreading throughout the entire imperial court. The mountain-shaking cries of "Eternal Life" reverberated through Zhenhuang's night. A night-flying crow passed overhead, and a young guard, unaware of the significance, looked up and exclaimed, "A crow!" only to be immediately kicked by the guard captain beside him.
"What do you know? That is a magpie!"
That day, heavy snow began to fall continuously over Zhenhuang City. The mountain passes stood firm as iron. In his slumber, the emperor frowned slightly and called out softly, "Anfu, who is making noise outside? Tell them to keep quiet."
The old eunuch responded from the shadows, whispering, "Your Majesty, the ministers are offering their greetings to you in the Purple Heaven Hall."
"Greetings to Father?"
The emperor seemed drunk, muttering, "Tell Shicheng to wait for me after the banquet."
The old eunuch nodded. "As you command."
That was many years ago—exactly how many, the emperor could no longer remember.
Back then, the emperor was not yet emperor, but an unfavored prince. His mother was a beauty sent from Qingqiu. Yet after giving birth, she seemed to have been forgotten by her husband. He and his mother lived quietly in the palace, like a docile cat, left to fend for themselves, so much so that his father even forgot to bestow a name upon him.
It was not until he turned seven and was due to begin his studies that the imperial family finally remembered his existence. He still recalled that day when the chief eunuch reported to his father. His father was napping in the chambers of Consort Hua, then at the peak of her influence. He and his mother had to kneel on the cold, hard stone floor for over two hours before his father awoke. Lying in Consort Hua's jade-like arms, his father frowned slightly, peering through the curtain at the unfamiliar mother and son outside, as if struggling to recall their faces. Finally, he chuckled lightly and said, "Let him be called Xu."
After leaving the chambers, the young eunuch repeatedly congratulated his mother, saying, "Xu carries the meaning of the rising sun—it seems His Majesty holds the prince in high regard."Mother shed tears of joy, taking out her meager silver to reward the greedy palace servants. Yet he remained quiet, lost in thought: "Xu" from Xutong meant "slow and gradual"—did Father mean he was a belated son?
He grew up in silence until he turned nine, when his mother finally passed away on a rainy night. Coughing, she covered her mouth, afraid her noise might disturb the nannies sleeping outside. In the palace, a consort who had long lost favor and lacked family backing was like dirt on the roadside, trampled by anyone. In this court teeming with princes, his status wasn't much higher. Over the past few days, he and his mother had been scolded several times for this very reason.
Mother died after all. When she was discovered the next morning, her body had already stiffened. Standing under the flower corridor in thin clothes, he watched as she was carried away wrapped in a single white cloth. The morning breeze was chilly, lifting a corner of the cloth from her forehead. The face beneath was deathly pale, like a roll of fine rice paper.
He turned away, tears streaming down his small face and into his collar. He quickly wiped them away. Though his mother had given birth to him, her lowly status meant she held no official rank and thus couldn't be considered his mother. According to the imperial registry, his mother was the Empress of Zhaoyang Palace. The death of an unranked woman was not something he was allowed to grieve.
He was then taken to Zhaoyang Palace. The Empress's three sons had all grown up and moved out to establish their own residences. With his mother gone, he now had the chance to be raised by the Empress. The eunuchs and palace maids who once looked down on him hurried to congratulate him, saying they had always seen him as a dragon among men, destined for great fortune and honor. Now that his luck had turned, it was truly a joyous occasion, something to celebrate.
Amid the congratulations, he knelt in the Fengming Hall of Zhaoyang Palace and kowtowed earnestly. He thought, "Mother's death is truly a cause for celebration," and then he laughed—laughed until tears nearly welled in his eyes, his mouth bitter.
The Empress frowned at him for a moment before saying sternly, "Take him away quickly. From now on, there's no need for him to come pay respects daily unless necessary. This child's laughter is unsettling."
That afternoon, he encountered Shicheng, the son of his second uncle, the Prince of Yanbei. At that time, the Prince of Yanbei didn't yet bear the surname Yan but was still surnamed Zhao, with his fiefdom merely located in Yanbei. Shicheng bounded over to him excitedly, shouting, "I even drank from Consort Shuhe's breast!"
From that day on, Shicheng pestered him constantly, following him everywhere, whether eating or sleeping. If anyone dared to show him disrespect, Shicheng would wrestle them to the ground. Though young, Shicheng was strong—even the wrestling champion from the imperial brother's training ground was thrown flat on his face. After that, no one dared to provoke the Ninth Prince again.
Yet he still found Shicheng annoying. He disliked the smile on his face—it felt too fake, unlike the subtle, cold smiles of those in the palace that carried an underlying chill. Shicheng's laughter, however, was too pure; he couldn't detect a hint of darkness in it. He told himself, "This person is too cunning. I need to keep my distance."One time, so annoyed by the pestering, he tricked him by saying they would meet at the ice cellar that night and wouldn’t leave without seeing each other. Yanshicheng happily patted his chest and declared that men of Yanbei never lie, even offering to swear an oath with blood. He stopped him—not out of concern, but because, as a prince, harming his own body would also be punished.
The next day, Yanshicheng truly disappeared. The Heir of Yanbei had gone missing within the palace, and the entire palace went into a frenzy. Everyone searched high and low, almost digging up every inch of soil. Even the Empress and the Emperor were alarmed. The guards ran all day through the vast palace, their frantic footsteps like pounding drums, closing in on him step by step, as if heralding doom.
He was terrified. He knew where Yanshicheng was, but he didn’t dare say. Having been frozen in the ice cellar for a day and a night, he must have been long dead. Yet he also feared that Yanshicheng might still be alive. If others found out he had lured Yanshicheng there, he would be in grave trouble.
That evening, a palace maid fetching ice finally discovered Young Master Yan, frozen stiff. Physicians rushed in and out, repeatedly saying that Young Master Yan was unlikely to recover and that the Prince of Yan should be notified quickly.
Hiding behind a pillar in the main hall, he secretly thought: Die quickly, die quickly, please don’t come back to life.
But Yanshicheng didn’t die. Over a month later, he finally recovered fully. When the Prince of Yan found out, he laughed heartily and said that since Yanbei’s climate was frigid, Yanshicheng had been able to soak in snow water for an hour from a very young age, so this level of cold was endurable.
During that period, he was utterly terrified. He woke from nightmares every day, afraid that he would be wrapped in a white cloth and carried out of the palace, just like his mother.
Yet after Yanshicheng recovered, he quietly sought him out, wide-eyed, and asked, “What happened to you that day? Why didn’t you come?”
He was stunned. Though he had prepared countless flawless excuses over those days, at that moment, his mind went completely blank, and he couldn’t think of a single word. After stammering for a long time, he finally muttered softly, “I forgot.”
Yanshicheng laughed heartily and said, “I knew you didn’t do it on purpose.” Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he quickly lowered his voice and whispered, “Don’t let anyone else know, or you’ll be in big trouble.”
Back then, Yanshicheng was only seven years old, like a little calf from the northwest, with bright, sparkling eyes, standing on tiptoe just to reach his ear.
Many years later, he asked Yanshicheng, “Weren’t you angry? Didn’t you ever suspect me?”
By then a youth, Yanshicheng looked at him strangely, frowned, and said, “Why would I suspect Brother Xu? We were raised on the same mother’s milk!”
Yes, Yanshicheng had been born in the capital. The Princess of Yan’s milk was insufficient, and it so happened that his own mother, Consort Shuhe, had given birth to a stillborn second child. So Yanshicheng was brought to Consort Shuhe and nursed for a few days—though only a few days.Time passed swiftly. They were like two poplar trees growing side by side, shooting up with every gust of wind. In the blink of an eye, they had grown into robust young men. Life began to brighten as they practiced martial arts together, rode horses together, shot arrows together, studied military strategy together, and eventually enlisted in the army together. They were inseparable, and his temperament gradually became more cheerful. Occasionally, he could even banter and joke with companions like Meng Tian.
It wasn't until that year when they traveled south with the Fifth Imperial Uncle and met the person who would change their lives by the clear waters of Mount Ya that fate, like a rushing river, suddenly swerved in a sharp turn.
He still remembered that day when he, Shicheng, and Meng Tian secretly left the posthouse to visit local scenic spots. The sky was a clear, brilliant blue, the weather was splendid, and the sun hung warmly above. A young girl stood barefoot at the bow of a black-canopied boat, dressed in lake-green robes, her features delicate and lovely. Her eyes sparkled like the brightest pearls. Revealing a glimpse of her pale, smooth calves, she waved at the three of them and called out in a crisp voice, "Hey! You three tall fellows, want to come aboard?"
So many years had passed. Often, he thought he had nearly forgotten—forgotten the time, the place, the faces and smiles of those days. But that voice was something he could never forget for all eternity. Watching the girl approach gracefully, his palms grew sweaty with nervousness, as if he had returned to childhood, wanting to speak but unable to open his mouth.
Just then, he heard Shicheng laugh heartily beside him: "Hey, little girl, your boat is so small—can it really fit all three of us?"
Plop—a stone was tossed into the long river of time, stirring up a tiny, pure white spray. Perhaps many things were destined from the very beginning.
As the tides of war surged unpredictably, he was eventually pushed to the brink of life and death. Step by arduous step, he advanced along that path. Those who stood in his way died; those who protected him died as well. Some, unarmed and doing nothing, still perished beneath the sweep of war blades, casualties in the chaos of shifting power.
Shicheng led the Yanbei Army, following closely behind him. Even now, whenever he closed his eyes, he could still hear the young man's voice echoing in his ears:
"Brother Xu, I'm here!"
"Brother Xu, we're not afraid of them. At worst, we'll perish together."
"Brother Xu, no matter what, you must live. Only by living can you avenge our fallen brothers."
"Brother Xu, the essence of the Great Way lies in kindness to the people. As long as you remember this, my death will be worth it."
"Brother Xu, whoever dares betray you, I'll cut them down!"
"Brother Xu, Brother Xu, Brother Xu…"
Like a tide, the crowds knelt before him. The cry of "Long live the King!" finally resounded in his ears. The bright yellow robes he wore shimmered like a lake of liquid gold, radiating a dazzling light. That day, in the Chengguang Ancestral Temple, he ascended to the throne of Daxia. And on the empress's seat beside him, nestled within the deep phoenix robes, was only a jade pendant that had never been delivered—a humble keepsake from his mother, as modest as the faint courage he had possessed in his youth.
In the dim depths of the great hall, a swirling wind arose. The emperor felt a chill and slowly opened his eyes.The old eunuch approached from behind and draped a cloak over him, but he childishly threw it to the ground, frowning as he said, "Why hasn't that brat Yan Xun attacked yet?"
The old eunuch was long accustomed to such behavior and replied, "Your Majesty, the Prince of Yan is still outside Wild Goose Cry Pass."
"Utterly incompetent. If it were Shicheng, he would have breached the pass long ago. The youngsters these days are truly useless."
The emperor shook his head as he stood up, wearing a deeply regretful expression.
"Ah Sheng doesn’t believe I spared that boy. I must summon him quickly so Ah Sheng can see for herself."
The emperor’s back was slightly hunched as he muttered softly. The cup on the small table was empty; the red wine inside contained an herb called Huangliang, priceless and exceedingly rare. It was said that even a tiny amount could cloud one’s mind and induce a fleeting, beautiful dream. Yet, it was so precious that spending such a fortune for a mere dream was beyond even the wealthiest nobles of the time. However, in this imperial palace, such an herb was a daily sight.
"An Fu, tell me—being emperor is so exhausting. Why do they still fight so fiercely for it?"
The emperor suddenly turned and asked. The old eunuch kept his head lowered in silence. The emperor did not expect an answer and turned to walk away into the distance, the frost at his temples gleaming starkly white under the moonlight.
Your Majesty, it is because they have never experienced it. They do not know. But even for you, after the Huangliang dream, don’t you still cling to this vast empire?
Life is like a chessboard, where every person is a piece upon it. Amid the crisscrossing lines, who can truly leap beyond?
The wind outside picked up, sweeping a layer of fresh snow across the ground, and that figure gradually faded into the distance.
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