Sea of No Return

Wаnwаn closеd hеr еуеs, having lost all hорe. She knеw that pеrhарs shе wоuld nеver return tо the Southern Garden in this lifetimе. Еven if Liаngshi gavе uр his titlе, hе would rеmаin а thоrn in thе side оf the imperiаl сourt, еmbedded toо deeрly. As lоng аs hе livеd, thеrе wоuld never bе рeасе.

Sincе theу сould not tоlеratе him, why had theу dragged her intо this muddу wаter? Нer eldest brоthеr hаd reреаtеdlу wаrned hеr nоt to gеt involvеd, yet hеr seсоnd brоther hаd sеnt hеr intо the bridal chаmber. Perhaps hеr only purрose wаs to bеаr his child аnd then serve as a tool to control him. But had Second Brother ever considered that if Liangshi were to let go, if he no longer cared, what would this achieve besides giving him a reason to raise an army?

The officials of the Inner Cabinet were a bunch of useless fools. How could the world find peace under the rule of such pedantic scholars? When she was very young, she had overheard them mocking behind her father’s back at a grand banquet: "Those who steal a hook are executed; those who steal a state become nobles." Back then, when the Yuwen Clan burned and slaughtered at the foot of the Qilian Mountains, repeatedly attempting to invade the Central Plains, if Emperor Taizu had acted decisively and wiped them out completely, how much better it would have been. Instead, he granted them enfeoffment and settled them in Jiangnan. Who could have predicted that Jiangnan would become so prosperous two hundred years later? If only they had been exiled to the Northern Desert, forced to live like beasts, drinking blood and eating raw flesh...

This was the only time she had ever pleaded with the Emperor, and she had returned defeated. She would never bring it up again. He told her to stay at the Western Sea to recuperate, but how could she continue to face this reality? The Imperial Physician had taken her pulse and said, "Your Highness is merely suffering from anger affecting the heart. Once your emotions calm, you will recover." Struggling to her feet, she decided that since there was no serious issue, she should return. She could no longer bear to stay in this place.

Exiting the Grand Palace Gate, the sun shone brightly. Though its warmth was insufficient, its glare was still dazzling. She felt extremely unwell, leaning almost entirely on Tong Huan. Tong Huan, being a woman, half-carried her, finding it difficult even to descend the steps.

Jinshi watched from beside the Imperial Carriage, hesitated for a moment, then set down the reins and went to meet them.

She appeared very weak, a thin layer of sweat covering her face, seemingly unable to take another step. He reached out to take her, lifting her horizontally into his arms. She glanced at him dully, her lips moving slightly but unable to utter a sound.

Even now, she was probably still mindful of the distinction between men and women. She was a noble princess—how could a lowly Thousand Household Commander be worthy of approaching her? He paid no heed, steadily carrying her into the carriage. Turning around, he ordered the Commandant to return to the estate first and summon the Chief Physician and Female Physician on standby, so they could conduct a medical consultation for Her Highness.

As the Imperial Carriage began to move, he sat on his horse and looked back. The carriage door remained quiet; the princess was often silent.

Upon reflection, he truly felt pity for her. A woman with child should be living like a flower in bloom, yet she was consumed by worry and longing day after day. Without her husband by her side to shield her from the storm, she had to face these upheavals alone. Once the cherished treasure of Emperor Xiaozong, she had now fallen to such a state. He wondered what Emperor Xiaozong, beneath the Yellow Springs, would think.

Wanwan curled up on the brocade cushion, waves of cold creeping over her, starting from her calves and spreading to her thighs, then to her waist and abdomen. She vaguely sensed that something was wrong, clenching her hands tightly, her palms drenched in sweat, even the spaces between her fingers damp. She wanted to call for someone but didn’t know whom to call. Her heart was filled with desolation and panic, praying only to reach home quickly. It seemed she could not hold on much longer.The imperial carriage finally came to a halt, but she couldn't move, unable to step down. When the door opened, a cold breeze swept over her face, making her shiver. Tong Huan cried out in panic, but she lay slumped on the cushion, her breathing trembling. Jinshi lifted her out again, holding her horizontally, trying to let her stretch her waist. She murmured softly, "My stomach hurts," and he heard it, his heart aching with fear.

Inside the second gate, chaos reigned. In the bedroom, hurried footsteps echoed as she lay on the bed, feeling as though her body was floating, as if her soul might leave her shell at any moment. The chief physician took her pulse, then went to the outer room to write a prescription. Nanny Li asked him about her condition, and he spoke in a low voice, though what he said was unclear. Her wet nurse began to sob, "My poor..."

She was terrified, wanting to hold her belly, but she couldn't lift her hands. Beyond the floor screen, people came and went, while she lay quietly there. The medicine pot bubbled noisily, and the room soon filled with the scent of herbal medicine.

She didn't know if the child could be saved. She recalled the fate reading's words, "No reliance on any of the six relatives," and tears flooded her eyes like a tide. So be it, so be it—if fate is shallow, let it be. There was nothing more she could do. The pain was faint, not particularly intense, but it spread from her waist to her abdomen, dull and throbbing like the beating of drums on a stage—vast and overwhelming, then subsiding again. She knew it was bad, yet she clung to a sliver of hope, delaying, drinking some medicine, perhaps she could pull through. But as night fell, the last ray of sunlight vanished from the window lattice, and her pain surged in with overwhelming force. Accompanied by Xiao You's cry of "She's bleeding," something detached from within her body. She couldn't hold it back, and her body suddenly felt empty.

It was a boy. They didn't let her take a single look before hastily disposing of him. Wanwan still remembered the first fetal movement last night—he was already an active, lively child. It was a pity she couldn't take care of him. He was gone.

Nanny Zhang stayed by her side, stroking her hair, but the numbness and emptiness on her face frightened her. She urgently called out, "Your Highness," her voice trembling as she said, "You're still young. Losing one pregnancy doesn't matter. Build up your health, and you can conceive again."

She hummed in response, "Yes... but I feel I've let Liangshi down. I have no face to see him."

Large teardrops slid into her temples, and Nanny Zhang couldn't wipe them away fast enough, only offering repeated comfort: "The Prince won't blame you. This was forced by circumstances. Listen to me, you mustn't cry during post-miscarriage confinement—crying can blind you. My dear child, you drank my milk since you were little, and I raised you inch by inch. Seeing you like this hurts me more than cutting my own flesh. What can I do for you? If I could trade my life for the little heir's, I would die right now."

Yet no amount of words could help. Grief could not be stopped, nor could the tears. She closed her eyes, and before her were Liangshi's tear-filled eyes. What would he do if he knew the news? Would he resent her? She was so useless, unable to even protect her child. Second Brother's plan to use the legitimate heir to control the Southern Garden would also fail. A sickly sister—would anyone still value her?

Over there, the fifth brother's pigeon post arrived: The Princess Royal had fought fiercely to protect the Southern Garden, debating the Inner Cabinet until her pregnancy was harmed, and the child was lost. It was said to have been a boy...

He stood in the sunlight, his face ashen.

His heart was like a vessel, filled with all kinds of extreme emotions. A sharp blade mercilessly stirred it, churning his flesh and blood, shattering his internal organs.His life had never been peaceful. The Southern Garden had weathered too many storms. Since the Grand Prince passed the title to him, he had not relaxed for a single day. He had always believed that no matter what happened, he could grit his teeth and endure it. But this time, what could he do? He felt he was on the brink of collapse. His woman and his son had become sacrifices to his indecisiveness. For the first time, he felt he had made a mistake—he had overthought everything. If he had started the war earlier, perhaps Wanwan would not have ended up like this. A five-month-old child lost—how much pain she must have endured, he dared not imagine. He hated Great Ye, hated Murong Gaogong, hated that despicable imperial court, and hated himself even more. Sword in hand, he stormed through the courtyard, slashing at everything in sight, using all his strength to destroy everything before him.

His blood surged backward, his hair stood on end—he was just one step away from madness. Only when there was nothing left to destroy did he finally exhaust himself, kneeling amidst the wreckage and howling like a wolf. He needed to cry; he had to find an outlet for his emotions. He had always kept his feelings hidden, only showing his true self in front of Wanwan. Yet despite loving her and their child so deeply, he had failed to protect them. He had intended to endure humiliation and wait for the right moment, but fate had other plans. Murong Gaogong had dealt him another devastating blow. All his hatred, all his strength, had nowhere to go. What could he do to avenge this blood debt? How could he make Murong Gaogong suffer a fate worse than death? Clenching his teeth, trembling all over, if he could march into Beijing City right now, he would tear that Dog Emperor to pieces.

"When we attack Beijing, I will kill every member of the Murong family to avenge E'nie and my little brother!" Only then did Lan Zhou dare approach to console him, kneeling before his father and sobbing, "Ama, please restrain your grief. You must take care of yourself to bring E'nie back. If she knew you were like this, how heartbroken she would be."

His hair disheveled, his appearance wretched—Lan Zhou had never seen his father in such a state, and it truly frightened him. He tried to step forward to support him, only to realize his father stood like a mountain, forever beyond his reach. He also grieved for his unborn brother, though his sorrow was but a fraction of his father's. All he could do was console him, even subtly encouraging him: "Ama, the time has come. Let us mobilize the troops, gather our forces, and march straight to Beijing."

Rage for the sake of a beauty—this was the perfect catalyst. Lan Zhou had thought his Ama would issue the Marshal's Order without hesitation, but miraculously, he calmed down. Slowly rising to his feet, standing amidst the scattered branches, he shook his head. "Throughout history, how many wars have ended in total defeat due to momentary rage? I will not take up Weapons of War, but that does not mean I will sit idly by. In the past, I held myself too aloof, failing to utilize the ready-made weapons at hand. Looking back now, that was truly foolish."

The weapon he referred to was naturally Prince Zhen'an. Wang Ding was a reckless man; without the Advisors by his side, he would have died countless times. With just a little infiltration into his Brain Trust and some subtle persuasion, he could be thrown into disarray. For a Military Strategist, the most profitable tactic is to Kill with a Borrowed Knife. When the time comes, those watching the drama will not fear the chaos. When things spiral out of control, turning to cooperate with him might not be impossible.Lan Zhou watched intently as he stepped out, his expression grave yet composed. He took a deep breath and instructed word by word, "Wang Ding is a filial son. In two days, it will be his mother's eightieth birthday. Seizing this opportunity to exchange courtesies with him is a good idea. Prepare a visiting card and send it with a reliable person. The gift should be cleverly chosen, making him understand my intentions, so it will be easier to talk in the future."

Lan Zhou acknowledged the order. Indeed, there are no eternal friends nor eternal enemies in the world. Previously, they had always waited for the two Feudal Princes to make the first move—a sound strategy, but too passive. Now, taking the initiative to win them over and adjusting plans based on the situation, regardless of the chances of success, the Oriole Behind approach would certainly result in fewer losses.

Lan Zhou went off to carry out his orders. He looked up at the sky, a clear azure blue. Beijing must be the same, he thought.

"Will the Princess Royal hate me?" he murmured. "I left her alone in the capital. She must resent me deeply now."

Rong Bao sniffled and said she wouldn’t. "Your Highness shares a deep bond with you. She knows you had no choice. If she harbors any hatred, it will only be for the Dog Emperor, not for you, my lord. This servant’s donkey brain can’t think deeply, but I feel that even though the young master is gone, perhaps this misfortune may turn into a blessing in disguise. As long as Her Highness despises Murong Gaogong to the core, when we rise up in the future, she won’t blame you. Think about it—if Your Highness and you are of one mind, you can still have another Heir Apparent. The two of you can bear ten or eight children; it wouldn’t be difficult."

Though the words made sense, the loss of the son he had longed for struck him too hard. He closed his sore eyes, wishing he had wings under his ribs to fly to Wanwan’s side. Stroking the mark she had left on his wrist, he was grateful they still had this small connection. He was also afraid—afraid she might lose heart and abandon him. The loss of the child was secondary; he had a constant premonition that he might lose her at any moment. He hoped it was just an illusion; otherwise, his own life would hold little meaning.

The Emperor learned of Wanwan’s tragic loss of her beloved son only on the third day.

Chongmao watched the dazed Emperor and called out to him several times. Finally, as if waking from a dream, the Emperor asked when it had happened.

Chongmao replied, "It was the day the two grand councilors offended Her Highness. That night, it was over—the child was lost, and it was a boy."

The Emperor slammed the armrest of the Dragon Throne and cursed, "Why was I only informed now? What are those people outside doing?"

Chongmao felt wronged. "Your Majesty, you’ve been in seclusion and refused to see anyone these past two days. Even if I had received the news, I couldn’t have brought it to you."

The Emperor fell silent, stood up, and paced around the room, muttering to himself, "This is a disaster. Wanwan must hate me to death. If I hadn’t insisted on keeping her in the capital, this wouldn’t have happened..." He pondered for a long time. "What should I do? Her health is too weak. Just arguing with someone led to this..."

In truth, the ice had formed over more than a single day. Chongmao didn’t dare say much, only looked at him and asked, "Your Majesty, won’t you go see Her Highness?"The Emperor gave an "oh" and said, "Right, I must go." But as he hurried to the door, he hesitated again, "I'm afraid she won't want to see me. What if I end up offering warmth only to be met with coldness? How will I save face then?"

Still, they were siblings after all. Even if it meant losing face, the Emperor went anyway.

An imperial outing was a grand affair, with the entire route cleared and a Silk-clad Guard stationed every ten paces. At times like these, the Emperor valued his life dearly. Upon entering the Eldest Princess Residence, since Wanwan was unable to come out to greet him, he headed straight for the inner chambers. Her room carried a strong scent of medicine, and the Emperor even caught a whiff of blood—as if, three days after the miscarriage, the smell still lingered, making him somewhat uncomfortable. But the one lying in bed was his own younger sister; he could disdain anyone but her. Gritting his teeth, he walked through the floor screen. Wanwan lay with her eyes closed, still asleep. When the Nurse Matron moved to announce him, he raised a hand to stop her. Instead, he pulled over a stool and sat by the bed, waiting. Looking at his sister's pale face, a mix of emotions surged within him, and his heart ached as if cut by a knife.

There were few siblings among them—even including that dead eldest brother, there were only three in total. Wanwan was eight years younger than him. Back then, he used to take her to catch dragonflies on the Vermilion Steps in front of the Hall of Reverent Body or to scoop tadpoles from the Floating Cup Canal in the Imperial Garden. She was little and couldn't help much, so she carried the basket for him. At four or five years old, she barely reached his waist. Now she had grown up, nearly having a child of her own, but in his eyes, she was still his little sister, someone he ought to look after.

If he hadn't become Emperor, perhaps things between siblings wouldn't have turned out this way. It was all the fault of this damned imperial power. Initially, he had been wary of the Prince of Nanyuan, but after Wanwan married him, he thought nothing major would happen. Yet those Inner Cabinet ministers kept whispering in his ear, and over time, he wavered. After all, compared to the state and altars, his sister's marriage wasn't that important. If one draped in red didn't work out, there were others draped in green. He thought that if the Prince of Nanyuan truly proved unsuitable, he could simply find Wanwan another husband. But it seemed he had underestimated the bond between them, which annoyed him somewhat. No matter how good Yuwen Liangshi was, could he possibly be better than her own brother?

A little jealous, a little resentful—his sister had been taken away by someone else, and he disliked the Prince of Nanyuan even more. Though Wanwan was undoubtedly heartbroken over losing the child, the pain would fade after a while. Once he finished refining this batch of elixirs, he decided to share ten pills with her to try. As much as he loved keeping delicacies to himself, he couldn't leave his sister out of his grand plan for immortality.