The turmoil came without warning, like a pot of cold water suddenly brought to a boil. Those immersed in it had no time to react before they were cooked alive.
By the time they reached Han River, the war had escalated. After several waves of cavalry swept through, cities lay in ruins, homes were burned to the ground, once-fertile fields turned to decaying black ash, and fine silks floated in muddy, polluted waters. Along the roads, the bodies of common people who had perished in the chaos of war were everywhere. Overnight, prosperity turned to ruin, and the stench of rotting flesh filled the summer air.
The Prince of Luo had raised his army at Meishan. Commoners unwilling to become rebels fled east with their families, only to discover upon reaching Han River that the commander of Han River Pass was Xu Su, a clansman of the Prince of Luo's concubine. The eastern water crossings were tightly sealed off, while the Biantang forces west of Han River Pass found themselves isolated and unable to coordinate. They suffered a major defeat against the Prince of Luo at Hongcheng, leaving half of Biantang's territory in turmoil.
Chu Qiao and her companions found their journey stalled. With a major battle imminent, even her capabilities were insufficient to contend with such a situation.
Around Han River, refugees gathered. In the height of summer, disease spread rapidly. Within half a month, a plague began to ravage the city. Wealthy households barricaded their doors, deploying guards and servants to patrol their properties. Inns and taverns closed their doors, making it impossible to purchase even a single grain of rice. Chu Qiao and her group had no choice but to move to the outskirts. Fortunately, they had prepared for a long journey in advance, stocking up on food and tents.
Days passed, and rumors of all kinds circulated. Even when Duoji and Ping An risked entering the city to gather information, they could uncover nothing useful.
The rumors varied widely. Some claimed Li Ce had assembled eight hundred thousand elite cavalry and armored troops in the east and was marching toward Han River. Others said the Prince of Luo had recently crushed the Southern Huai Army at Junshan, with regions like Jiangzhe, Feicheng, Nanwang, Anxi County, and Xizhao Mountain falling one after another. Imperial forces had suffered heavy casualties, and the survivors had surrendered. Within five days, the Prince of Luo's army would occupy Han River. There were also rumors that wealthy families in the southwest had donated money and supplies to support the Prince of Luo's uprising, rallying under the banner of opposing a tyrannical ruler. They sent their private troops to join the Meishan Army, swelling the Prince of Luo's forces to nearly a million. Even more absurd tales claimed that Li Ce had already fled Tang Capital, taking his consorts into Daxia, while Huai Song of the East Sea was helping him build ships for an escape across the sea.
Panic spread among the people around Han River. Although the rumors were not entirely accurate, the Prince of Luo's army drew closer to Han River with each passing day.
The dwindling number of refugees in recent days indicated that the Prince of Luo's encirclement was tightening, soon to converge with the forces at Han River.
Seven days later, the Prince of Luo's army finally advanced to Qibai Slope, just over eighty li from Han River. Unexpectedly, however, they halted and made no move to meet with General Xu Su, the defending commander at Han River. Similarly, Han River showed no clear signs of pledging allegiance to the Prince of Luo.
The conflict had reached a stalemate.
At this point, the Imperial Western Shuo Army sensed something unusual. General Xu Su was a high-ranking imperial commander who had once served under the old General Murong. If he stood firm in his loyalty to Li Ce, the legitimate Biantang faction's chances of victory would greatly increase.After observing for another four days, Lu Bingkuan, leader of the Xishuo Army, arrived at Qibai Slope with thirty thousand troops and engaged in a fierce battle with the Luo Prince's forces. Though the fighting was brutal and the Xishuo Army suffered heavy casualties, they valiantly broke through the Luo Prince's defensive lines and rushed toward General Xu Su's camp at Hanshui. Their intention was clear—to join forces with the Hanshui troops in defending the Biantang capital.
However, just then, the Hanshui Massacre, which would shock the entire Ximeng Continent, began without any warning.
In a single night, Xu Su slaughtered all thirteen thousand soldiers under Lu Bingkuan's command. Blood dyed the Hanshui River red, and even thirty li downstream, the crimson waters remained visible. Corpses piled up, nearly forming a tall embankment.
Eagle Vultures circled over Hanshui day and night. After dark, their piercing shrieks and screeches filled the air as fierce birds and beasts tore at the decaying bodies, creating a scene straight out of a nightmare.
Three days later, finally convinced of Xu Su's sincerity in surrendering, the Luo Prince entered the Hanshui camp with one hundred fifty thousand troops. The following day, supported by his soldiers, he donned the imperial yellow robe, paid homage to his ancestors, and ascended the throne, adopting the reign title Jingheng.
Two days later, the two hundred thousand Meishan Army arrived at Hanshui. Combined with Xu Su's one hundred eighty thousand defenders and the Luo Prince's own forces, his total military strength approached six hundred thousand.
Thus, Biantang witnessed the absurd situation of two emperors ruling divided by the river.
Ten days later, Li Ce, the Great Tang Emperor who could seemingly no longer endure such humiliation, finally issued a decree of condemnation. Using fierce language, he personally led the expedition, commanding ninety thousand Central Army troops, one hundred ten thousand Southeastern Army soldiers, and two hundred thousand Wolf Troops, advancing toward Hanshui with overwhelming force.
War was imminent.
On the ninth day of the eighth month, the Luo Prince ascended the Chaoyang Terrace to offer sacrifices to his ancestors and consecrate the war banners. He then crossed the river with his main forces and one hundred fifty thousand Meishan troops, leaving fifty thousand Meishan soldiers and Xu Su to guard Hanshui. However, Li Ce's army remained holed up in their camp, too afraid to engage. For five consecutive days, only a few skirmishes involving mere hundreds of soldiers occurred—more akin to civilian brawls than proper military engagements. Li Ce's name quickly became a laughingstock throughout Biantang, and rumors spread across the land that the Tang Emperor feared the Luo Prince and dared not venture out to fight.
Just as everyone believed Li Ce was about to lose his empire, Chu Qiao suddenly instructed Mei Xiang to pack their belongings and prepare to journey to the capital.
Puzzled, Mei Xiang asked directly for an explanation.
Gazing toward Xu Su's camp in the east, Chu Qiao's eyes grew distant. She recalled the night the Xishuo Army was massacred—the screams that had echoed incessantly, lasting the entire night.
"This war is about to end," she said.
On the seventeenth day of the eighth month, the Great Tang army finally shook off its earlier despondency and marched out in full force, engaging the Luo Prince's troops in a fierce battle at Hulinyuan.
Soldiers fought bravely, and the conflict raged for a full day and night without either side yielding. Both knew this was a struggle for the throne—the victor would be crowned with glory and a bright future, while the loser would face execution of their entire clan, sparing none.
At the critical moment of the battle, General Xu Su suddenly appeared on the battlefield.
The Luo Prince's army erupted in cheers, but before their jubilation faded, Xu Su's forces raised their sabers and charged into the rear of the Luo Prince's troops!
On the twentieth day of the eighth month, the Luo Prince was defeated, with over forty thousand soldiers dead and the rest surrendering.Under the protection of two thousand elite guards, Prince Luo fled all the way to the Han River, only to discover that his fifty thousand troops had all perished. The Han River surged relentlessly, with no boats to cross. Cornered and without options, Prince Luo let out a long sigh by the riverbank, lamenting that the times were not in his favor, before drawing his sword and taking his own life.
Thus, the Jingheng Emperor, who had reigned for merely eleven days, faded quietly from the historical records of Biantang, vanishing without a trace as if he had never existed.
On August 21st, the imperial army pursued and executed the remaining followers of Prince Luo, slaughtering over three hundred prominent southwestern clans. Women were forced into government brothels, while men taller than a horsewhip were summarily beheaded. Almost overnight, the entire southwestern aristocracy was eradicated, leaving the land desolate and ravaged as the Shu winds swept through.
On August 27th, the Tang Emperor returned to the capital in triumph. General Xu Su, who had rendered outstanding service in suppressing the rebellion, continued leading troops to eliminate the remaining rebels. Bloodshed spread from the southwestern region centered around Meishan, winding its way across the entire territory of Biantang.
On September 4th, the Emperor issued an edict, allocating half of the confiscated resources from the southwestern clans to provinces and counties devastated by the war, while exempting the southwest from taxes for five years to allow recovery. Instantly, Li Ce's prestige soared to its peak. The people who had lost their homes and loved ones in the conflict, suddenly realizing they could survive, wept with gratitude and kowtowed in thanks for the Emperor's heavenly grace.
On September 9th, Chu Qiao set out once more with Ping An, Duoji, and others, crossing the Han River by boat toward the Tang Capital.
Biantang remained Biantang—the sky still blue, the clouds still white, the warm breezes unchanged. Only, the soldiers who had perished on the battlefield would never see it again.
**
September 15th. Outside the window, the moon hung full and round like a fine jade disc. Among the parasol trees beyond the palace, countless fireflies fluttered, emitting faint blue lights as they gently circled.
The entire palace was cold and desolate, draped from top to bottom in pure white curtains. Pale white candles replaced the former palace lanterns, casting soft, hazy glows.
She followed the guards, walking slowly. Jinwu Palace remained as vast as ever, but without the ceaseless songs of entertainers or the delicate figures of dancers, this majestic palace suddenly felt overwhelmingly empty.
The arrow patterns on her sleeves brushed against the edges of her robe, producing a rustling sound. The night was too quiet. Crows flew overhead; looking up, she could only see the guardian beasts perched on the high eaves. The vast twilight spread like mist, and under the gloomy pines and cypresses, incense smoke curled upward. Chu Qiao gazed intently, faintly hearing the monks chanting scriptures as if from the edge of the sky, leaving her heart feeling hollow.
Mihe Residence remained largely unchanged—endless parasol trees, lotus ponds under the night sky, cicadas chirping in drawn-out calls. Pale moonlight filtered through the white cotton window paper, while several windows on the western side stood wide open. A moist breeze drifted in, carrying damp air that sent the pale blue-green curtains throughout the hall fluttering. A worn-out wind chime hung by the window, occasionally tinkling with a clear, crisp sound, like the song of breaking ice.
Li Ce sat amidst those pale blue-green curtains, with a small ebony table, two rush cushions, a green jade pot, and two gleaming white wine cups.The green gauze curtains danced with the wind, occasionally sweeping across the empty, silent hall. Li Ce, with his dark hair loosely cascading, wore a deep purple brocade robe embroidered with layers of intricate cyan cloud patterns, meticulously stitched in the imperial style. His face, pale as jade, was bathed in moonlight as he sat there quietly, like a motionless painting.
Chu Qiao stood at the doorway, her hand resting on a green pillar, momentarily unsure how to approach.
The night breeze lifted the curtains, and Li Ce turned his head under the moonlight. His expression was serene, eyes slightly narrowed, still bearing the faintly smiling, fox-like demeanor as he softly greeted her, "You've come."
His voice was calm, yet it stirred a pang of sorrow in Chu Qiao's heart. Gazing at him, she felt he remained just as he was when she left—playful, mischievous, yet able to see through everything with clarity.
Time had rushed by, so many events unfolding one after another, leaving her dazed. Looking at him now, she sensed a hint of strangeness, yet also a twinge of heartache.
She walked forward and knelt beside Li Ce, pressing her lips together as her eyes stung with unshed tears.
Li Ce, however, smiled and ruffled her hair, deliberately tousling her neatly arranged bun as he always did, and said with a laugh, "Why the long face? I'm not dead yet."
The more he smiled like this, the more sorrowful Chu Qiao felt. She forced a smile and nodded, saying, "It's good that you're alright."
The window was half-closed, faintly revealing the last pond of blooming clear lotuses outside.
Li Ce lowered his head, quietly tracing the intricate patterns on the edge of his wine cup.
"He was a traitor and cannot be buried in the imperial mausoleum. I interred him on Mount Luofu."
A gentle breeze drifted in, causing the wind chimes by the window to tinkle softly. Looking up, one could see the chimes carved with dense, delicate motifs, adorned with openwork silk tree flower patterns at the edges and traced with fine gold powder. Despite years of exposure to wind and sun, the colors remained vivid.
Li Ce took a shallow sip of wine, his gaze calm as he spoke in a composed tone, "Fu'er is buried there too."
He lifted his head, his lips faintly curved, his expression hazy, yet his eyes held a glimmer of dawn-like light.
"Though they could not share life, sharing a grave in death is not in vain for his final desperate stand."
The hall eventually fell into silence. Chu Qiao sat beside Li Ce, quietly accompanying him as they drank cup after cup. She did not take the seat opposite, for she knew it was not reserved for her.
Under the solitary lamp and bright moon, he was waiting for someone who would never return.
"I knew he would rebel."
Li Ce spoke to himself, and Chu Qiao remained silent. She understood he did not need a response now—only someone willing to listen quietly.
"I waited for him for many years, yet I held a sliver of hope that he might change his mind and decide not to rebel after all."
Li Ce smiled self-deprecatingly, downed a cup of wine, and turned to Chu Qiao with a grin. "You know, Li Luo was never as clever as me since childhood. He lagged behind in military strategy and martial arts, only excelling in poetry and literature. When he was young, he said he hoped to gather all the great scholars of Ximeng in his adulthood, establish an office in a scenic place, and compile the most comprehensive historical records of Ximeng."His brows were slightly furrowed. Moonlight filtered through the gauze-covered window lattice, spilling onto his handsome face. He said quietly, "Actually, he doesn't know that I established a historical archive for him in Anqing on the very day I ascended as Crown Prince. It's just a pity that after Fu'er died, I never had the chance to tell him."
Suddenly, his eyebrows tightened sharply, his voice carrying traces of hidden resentment as he forced these words through clenched teeth:
"Tell me, why did he have to rebel?"
The wine cup shattered into two pieces with a sharp crack. The jagged jade shards pierced the fleshy part of his hand between thumb and forefinger, and bright red blood spurted out like dazzling begonia blossoms.
Chu Qiao suddenly remembered many years ago, right beneath this very palace, under autumn paulownia trees, a man in blue robes stood quietly there, his gaze gentle as he said to her: "I am Prince Luo."
Vaguely, in dust-covered corners, the wind gently stirred the waters of time, flowing backward to many, many years earlier. Three young children had once played and run through this empty, silent hall, their laughter like the warm winds of June, piercing through the thick fog enveloping this cold, lonely palace, breaking through the treacherous shadows of this imperial household.
...
"Fu'er, you promised to be my bride today! You were his for the past two days, today it's my turn!"
"I don't want to!"
"Why? You're going back on your word!"
"I just don't want to!"
"Hmph, I'll tell Father Emperor to marry you into our household right now!"
"I don't want to, I don't want to, I don't want to!"
"Ah! Damn girl, why are you biting me?"
"Alright, you two, stop fighting. It's time to go to the study for lessons."
"Brother Luo, the Crown Prince is bullying me."
"What brother? You should call me Imperial Uncle! Imperial Uncle, Fu'er is sick, she's biting people randomly. I need to go to the medical hall to find the imperial physician, I can't attend lessons today."
...
The night was cool as water. The former splendor and brilliance gradually faded, leaving only a faint, clear glow. The cold moon shone like frost, suddenly bringing a chilling crispness to the flat ground. In such sweltering midsummer heat, her skin nonetheless prickled with fine goosebumps. The wind crept up her spine, eventually settling in her mind, sowing seeds of decadent despondency.
Li Ce, having drunk too much, appeared as a slender, solitary figure staggering out the gate of Mihe Residence.
He seemed to have grown thinner, gradually disappearing into the paulownia-shaded moonlight. Chu Qiao stood by the window, watching his receding figure, feeling only emptiness in her heart, like a shattered frozen lake.
The struggle for imperial power has always been cruel and bloody—either you die, or I perish.
Just like between Yanbei and Daxia, it's irreconcilable.
She suddenly thought of Yan Xun, recalling how she had felt when he killed Mr. Wu and the others back then.
Perhaps the circumstances were slightly different, but ultimately it was all just a contest for power. If Li Ce could grieve for Prince Luo's death now, would Yan Xun feel any regret for what he had done back then?
Huanhuan's desperate cry before her death gradually merged with the final screams of the Xishuo Army by the Han River, becoming sharp roars that churned violently in her mind.
The edifice of power rises bit by bit, but in the end only one person can ascend it. And before that happens, countless others must fall, piling up to form the foundation for advancement.On the ebony side table were a few faint water stains, devoid of wine's fragrance, shimmering with a crystalline luster under the moonlight.
"There is a string of wind chimes there, covered in dust. If you have time, miss, you might have the palace attendants clean it. The autumn breeze is cool, and the chimes' sound is crisp and quite pleasant."
A soft voice echoed leisurely in her mind.
Chu Qiao walked over slowly, reached out a finger, and gently touched the string of wind chimes. With a soft rustle, the silk thread suspending the wind chimes suddenly snapped, and the entire string fell instantly, plunging into the Taiqing Pond below. It struck the water, creating a white splash and ripples that spread in rolling circles.
———— Dividing Line ————
Starting tomorrow, the story will take a heartbreaking turn. Those with weak hearts may want to save up chapters. I aim to finish within a month.
Ad time: Recommending Yangyang—"Among Four, One Must Be My Husband." Those driven mad by my story can go there to unwind.
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