Thе Еmреrоr's temperаmеnt was inherеntly unrestrаinеd, sо his lеttеr wаs a mix оf classical prosе аnd plаin vernасulаr, аpреаring quitе disсordаnt.
He wrotе: "Мy dеar sister Wanwаn, reading уour words fееls likе sееing уоu in persоn. It hаs beеn а lоng time sinсe wе lаst met, and nоw with thе two аrmies at war, I dо not know if this lettеr will rеаch уou. I shall try nоnеthеless, tо еаsе mу lоnging for уоu. Sincе we рarted аt the Wеstеrn Sеa thrее уеars ago, thоugh we have exсhanged lettеrs, our heаrts havе grоwn distant, аnd now we stand in opposition like fire and water—something I never anticipated. I know you resent me. The seeds sown in the past have borne fruit today. It was my miscalculation, and regret comes too late, so let us not dwell on it. The other day, I visited your palace chambers. They have remained empty for you, though you once said they should be allocated to the other consorts. I could not bear to do so. In this world, you are my only close kin. Now that you are thousands of miles away, I must keep something to remember you by. The crabapple blossoms in your courtyard have bloomed. On the first branch, I tied a red silk ribbon for you, to celebrate your finding a beloved husband. May you and your husband share deep affection in the days to come, so that I may rest in peace even in the afterlife. The shattering of our nation is my fault alone. It is my duty to atone with my death to the world, and you need not grieve. The city will fall in due time, but the bond between my royal sister and me flows like the endless waters of a great river, eternal and unceasing. One day, when you sit high among the clouds, the realm in your hands, balancing the world, with scholars and commoners alike eager to follow you, I too will rejoice for you. A nation, like a person's lifespan, has a beginning and an end. What I regret is that it perished by my hand. As a ruler who lost his country, I have no face to meet our ancestors. Yet there is still some comfort: though the State Altars have fallen into others' hands, they have not fallen far. When you ascend to the position of empress, I ask you to patrol the realm on my behalf and bring blessings to the people. Though I may be gone, I will weep tears of gratitude."
Wanwan closed the letter. Outside, the spring wind was strong, sweeping through the treetops and eaves, its howls mingling with the clanging of iron wind chimes, like a desolate and sorrowful elegy.
The letter contained no condemnation, not even a single harsh word, but she knew how desperate he was. He still misunderstood her. That map had harmed him greatly—trusting her had led to defeat on the front lines, leaving them utterly routed by the Southern Garden. In truth, he must have hated her deeply. She wanted to explain, picked up her brush, but after a moment's thought, set it down again. At this point, words were the weakest of tools. No matter how much she said, it would be in vain, for no one would believe her.
She stood up, smoothed her skirt, and stepped outside, standing beneath the eaves to give an order: "Tell Pingchuan to wait. I have a letter I wish to entrust to him for personal delivery to The Emperor."
Tong Huan acknowledged the command, carefully observing her expression. "What did The Emperor say in his letter? Did he reprimand Your Highness?"
She shook her head. "He said that even nations have their time to perish, and he asked me not to grieve..."
Tong Huan was somewhat puzzled. Had The Emperor grown weary after bearing the burden for so long? Perhaps seeing everything clearly would slowly lessen the pain, making it easier to accept.
She breathed a temporary sigh of relief. "What brings Your Highness outside? It is nearly noon, and the sun is strong. Please go back inside. This servant will have Xiao You prepare pea-flour cakes—you used to love them most."
A faint smile touched her face. "I was just thinking of them." She glanced outside again. "It has been a long time since I last saw Dongli. Bring him here for me to see."
Tong Huan obeyed and left. Soon, the wet nurse brought the child over. Dongli was already over a year old, beginning to babble. In stature, he had inherited the typical build of the Qi People—slender limbs and taller than other children his age.He could walk now, though not very steadily, still needing to hold an adult’s hand. From a distance, Wanwan saw a small figure entering through the drooping flower gate, dressed in a mandarin jacket and long robe, looking quite proper. Having hurried a couple of steps, he felt a sense of accomplishment and laughed heartily.
Wanwan walked to the foot of the steps and crouched down to greet him. He approached step by step, but just as he was about to reach her, he suddenly stopped, his gaze unfamiliar and fearful, scrutinizing her repeatedly.
Wanwan smiled. “Little one, don’t you recognize your mistress?”
She had intended to step forward to receive him, but unexpectedly, he burst into a heart-wrenching cry, clinging fearfully to the wet nurse’s leg.
The child’s crying left Wanwan in an awkward position, unable to soothe him no matter how she tried. The wet nurse rocked him in her arms. “Didn’t you always call for your mistress? Why are you acting so timid now?”
Wanwan’s smile turned awkward. Children truly have a keen sense—perhaps he had caught the scent of death and was no longer willing to approach her.
She stood up, sighing deeply. “It’s my fault for neglecting you lately.” Turning to Tong Huan with a frown, she added, “In that case, send him back to the Princely Mansion. A child should be raised by his own mother. Keeping him here, I can’t attend to him properly, and he’ll end up unloved and pitied.”
Tong Huan urged her not to rush into sending him away, but she shook her head. “Take him there yourself and hand him over to the Young Mistress—only then will I feel at ease. On your way back, stop by Green Willow Residence and bring me two assorted vegetarian buns.”
Tong Huan had no choice but to agree. “I’ll call Xiao You in to attend to you.”
She declined. “Let her be busy. I’ll rest for a while and eat when I wake up. Go now, before the Young Mistress retires for the night—no need to disturb her.”
Dongli was still crying. She tucked her hands into her sleeves and gazed at him deeply for a moment before lifting her skirt to ascend the steps, never looking back.
As the cries faded into the distance, she let out a long sigh. Children were such peculiar beings—utterly adorable when not crying, yet utterly unbearable when they did. Now that he was gone, her greatest concern was laid to rest. As for those who served her, she had left a handwritten letter; Liangshi would surely spare their lives upon reading it.
She entered the inner chamber, dismissed the attendant servant girl, and ordered that no one disturb her. Lighting a candle, she burned the emperor’s letter to prevent it from being used against her later. With everything prepared, she paced the room twice, bidding a final farewell to the place where she had lived for so long.
She had done her best; there was no longer any need to persist. Second Brother had said he would atone with his death, but the one who deserved to die most was her. Looking back now, it felt as though she could stand apart from it all. She saw herself in Cultivating Virtue Palace, painting her brows and eyes, sleeves fluttering gracefully; she saw herself meek and obedient, cautious in speech and action before the Empress Dowager; she saw herself in a phoenix crown and cloud collar, married into another family; she saw herself in Cheng Guang Hall, filled with righteous indignation, arguing her case… Each frame was a sin, a mistake. If only her mother had taken her along when she passed away—to transcend the three realms, free from joy and sorrow, spared from enduring so much suffering.Her life could not be said to be a success or a failure; fine clothes and sumptuous meals were never lacking, and she had experienced brief moments of happiness. She still remembered catching crabs by the Lake of Graceful Charm and boating on the lake with Liangshi under the melting moonlight—those were such beautiful times, never imagining she would fall to such a state. As a person, she could abandon everything, but she could never part with her dignity—the last shred of pride she possessed as a human being. There are many choices in life: some may bend their backs for a mere five bushels of rice, while others would rather starve to death than stoop. People have always been different, and so have their choices, each with its own reasoning. However, having enjoyed all the wealth and luxury of the world, cloaked in the glorious lineage bestowed by her maternal family, only to turn to the arms of her usurping husband for continued indulgence after her family’s downfall—she was no longer worthy of being called human.
Deceived, trampled upon, even the gatekeepers could open her letters. If she continued to live, she foresaw that such indignities would persist. Why endure it? She had originally intended to wait for the final outcome of the war, but now it seemed unnecessary. After reaching the end of the road, there was nothing left.
She walked slowly over and sat before the bronze mirror. Reflected in the mirror was a gaunt face, pale and bloodless, as if even its beauty had faded. She opened her vanity case, smoothed her hair, drew her eyebrows, and applied rouge to her lips, finally restoring a hint of color to her appearance.
Rising, she opened a chest. In a box tucked in one corner lay the edict of her conferment and the ceremonial tablet she held when appearing before the emperor as a princess consort. She possessed several golden seals: aside from two personal seals, the rest were various turtle seals. The official seals issued by the imperial court were not originally so numerous, but out of affection, her father and brothers had custom-made imperial treasures, never forgetting to include her. Having lived through three reigns of Great Ye, she owned six vermilion-gold turtle seals.
She selected two, cut the leather cords, and weighed them in her hand—they were sufficient. Her belongings she would take with her; the remaining four would accompany her in burial, placed in the coffin so that she would not forget her identity in the afterlife.
The seals had sharp edges; though small and delicate, swallowing them would not be easy. Yet, with a heart set on death, the harm to her body mattered little. She felt her throat being torn, the heavy weight dragging downward, but her mind was at peace—finally, she could bring solace to her ancestors. Second Brother hated her so much; her explanations were useless, and only this could serve as the best explanation. When Pingchuan returned to the capital and brought news of her death, he would surely understand her heart.
As for Liangshi, she knew that as long as she lived, she could not escape his entanglement. But she was weary, unable to face it—this was the most straightforward solution. From now on, through all lifetimes, they would never meet again; she no longer wished to have any connection with him.
She sat on the southern kang, leaning crookedly against a hidden pillow, and turned to gaze at the spring scenery outside. Two Li birds flew by—they must be a pair, lingering affectionately even in the air. She smiled faintly, hearing the sound of her innards tearing apart, yet she endured the pain.
How exhausting... The pain left her drained, unable to keep her eyelids open, and she slowly closed them. In the darkness, a melodious Jiangnan folk tune drifted in: "Hometown, oh, thousands of miles away, dreams of the soul linger long..."
Dongli’s crying finally ceased, but upon entering the Princely Mansion, he wanted no one else, clinging to Tong Huan’s neck and murmuring about his mistress. This little one always touched the softest part of one’s heart. Having been raised for a long time at the Eldest Princess Residence, he was extremely familiar with her, while the people in the Princely Mansion felt like strangers, so he held onto her and refused to let go.Tong Huan chuckled, "Earlier when the mistress wanted to hold you, why did you hide?" As she spoke, she handed the child to the Young Mistress. "Our Highness has been lacking in energy lately and feared she might neglect the young master. Knowing you must miss your child, and with the situation outside being so chaotic, why not let the young master stay with you for a couple of days? Once Her Highness recovers a bit, we'll come fetch him."
The Young Mistress expressed her gratitude once more, "Please send my regards to E'nie. I was just speaking with the mistress the other day about wanting to visit her, but I feared it might upset her. Several times I had the carriage ready, but at the last moment I hesitated, worried that seeing someone from the Yuwen Clan might stir up painful memories for her."
Tong Huan gave a gentle, knowing smile. When a wall collapses, everyone pushes it—that was just how things were. They were uncertain about the depth of the relationship between the Prince of Nanyuan and the Princess Royal. If the Princess Royal's status remained unchanged after the change of power, showing respect would be appropriate. But if her position shifted from high to low, whether they still needed to defer to her would be another matter entirely.
She offered a few polite responses, curtsied, and prepared to take her leave. Seeing this, Dongli began to fuss again, but the Young Mistress paid her no mind. Using the child's crying as an excuse, she turned and went back inside.
With a sigh, Tong Huan left the prince's residence. Outside, a Goshiha was waiting. She boarded the carriage and headed straight to Green Willow Residence, where she bought the steamed buns the Princess Royal liked. By the time she returned to the residence, it was already past noon.
Entering the courtyard, she saw Xiao You squatting by the railing, watering the flowers. She asked, "Has Her Highness eaten yet?"
Xiao You turned and pursed her lips. "The pea-flour cake is ready, placed on the table. She said she wanted to rest for her afternoon nap and not be disturbed. Are you hungry? There's more in the cupboard—shall I fetch some for you?"
Tong Huan shook her head and peered through the glass toward the side hall. Gauze curtains hung over the flower-patterned windows, making the view from inside clear but only faintly visible from the outside.
For some reason, she felt uneasy all day. She set down the buns, went to the well to draw water and wash her hands, then walked back while saying, "I'll go check on her. I'm afraid she might not have covered herself with a blanket and could catch a chill later."
This Princess's Residence was originally an imperial traveling palace, so its layout was grand. The main hall was typically used for receiving guests, while the side halls served as living quarters. Ever since the west side hall was designated as the study, Her Highness had resided in the east side hall—using the front chamber for her afternoon naps and the rear chamber as her bedroom.
Moving quietly, she pushed open the Water Caltrop Flower Door and entered. The room was silent, save for the ticking of a Western-style clock. The thick Khotan carpet on the floor muffled her footsteps. She walked around the folding screen and saw her reclining against a cushion, already asleep.
Just as she had guessed, there was no blanket covering her. She opened the kang cabinet, took out a thin blanket, and draped it over her. But as she drew closer, she noticed something unusual about her complexion—it seemed more vibrant than usual.
Though vivid and beautiful, it made her heart race. She tentatively called out, "Your Highness, why not lie down on the bed?"
There was no response, not even a twitch of her brow.
A wave of immense dread seized her throat. As if guided by some unseen force, she reached out to check her breathing. There was none—nothing at all.
"Ah, Your Highness!" Tong Huan jolted as if struck by lightning, letting out a piercing scream. "Your Highness, what's wrong? Someone... someone, come quickly!"Her piercing scream shattered the afternoon tranquility. Outside, a copper basin clattered to the ground, followed by chaotic footsteps and panicked shouts converging from all directions. When everyone rushed into the hall, they saw Tong Huan already holding the figure, weeping uncontrollably.
She clung tightly to her, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down her face. The Princess Royal lay serene and still, beautiful yet devoid of life, even as she was shaken. A sense of helpless despair, like a bamboo sieve, trapped everyone’s hearts. Jinshi called out to Tong Huan in a trembling voice, “What has happened to Her Highness?”
Xiao You shivered as she stepped forward, kneeling on the footstool to stroke her hand. The fingers remained soft, only slightly cool. She pressed the hand against her own cheek. “Your Highness, let this servant warm you… just a little warmth and you’ll be fine. Please wake up. The pea-flour cake is ready—your favorite… Your Highness, how could you do this? What are we to do now?”
The world seemed to collapse. Inside and outside the hall, people knelt in mourning, their wails rising to the heavens, startling the palace guards beyond the walls.
The Goshiha exchanged uneasy glances. “What has happened?”
Their commander sensed something amiss and hurried inside. There was no one guarding the doors, and he passed unhindered through the second gate.
The scene within was terrifying. He rushed to the corridor to investigate and saw a Zhe Bed set up in the main hall. The Inner Attendant carried the Princess Royal out, the once-noble figure now limp like a doll. As she was placed on the bed, one hand hung lifelessly, devoid of vitality.
The commander staggered back two large steps, stumbling out the door. He shouted to the messenger waiting by the stone lion, “Quick! Send an urgent message to the Prince—eight hundred li without delay! The Princess Chang… has passed away!”
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