The Company

Chapter 46: The Xiezhi Crown

1 BC, Chang'an

Early summer had just arrived, golden sunlight filtering through the leaves to create dappled patterns on the ground. In the somewhat overgrown courtyard, birds sang and insects chirped in continuous succession, creating an atmosphere of joy and tranquility.

Wang Yan carefully carried a food container, and as she walked along the corridor of the courtyard, she noticed a colorful butterfly trapped in a spider's web, desperately struggling in its final moments. Although it had broken some of the silk threads, half of its wings remained ensnared.

Letting out a soft exclamation, Wang Yan glanced around before picking up a broken twig from the grass to rescue the poor butterfly from the spiderweb.

Watching the butterfly flutter away unsteadily, Wang Yan remembered she still needed to deliver food to her father. She lifted the hem of her skirt and quickened her pace.

The Wang family was an enormous clan, larger than anyone could imagine, all because the current Grand Empress Dowager bore the surname Wang.

When Emperor Cheng of Han ascended the throne, his first act was to appoint his uncle Wang Feng, the Marquis of Yangping, as Grand Marshal and General-in-Chief overseeing the Department of State Affairs. This position was even more powerful than that of Chancellor, truly placing him second only to the emperor. Soon after, Emperor Cheng ennobled five more Wang uncles as marquises in a single day. The Wang family instantly became Chang'an's new aristocracy, wielding overwhelming influence at court with no rivals. Eventually, all the Wang brothers were ennobled, and Wang descendants divided power among themselves. Gradually, there weren't enough official positions in Chang'an to distribute, and even local bureaucrats were mostly surnamed Wang.

The Wang family became the most prominent clan of the era. Their mansions and estates in Chang'an stretched for miles with layered pavilions and interconnected halls, their rear courtyards filled with numerous concubines and countless servants. The Wang brothers treated the imperial palace as their own residence, coming and going and staying overnight as they pleased. Some Wang descendants even took it upon themselves to breach the walls of Chang'an to channel river water from outside the city into their estates, just to create huge ponds for boating in their courtyards. Some even built halls in their courtyards identical to the White Tiger Hall in the Weiyang Palace, a serious transgression that ultimately went unpunished as Emperor Cheng imposed no penalties. The nobles and officials in Chang'an all knew that while one might offend someone surnamed Liu, one must never offend anyone surnamed Wang. This was because the Liu imperial relatives were enfeoffed in various regions away from Chang'an, while those surnamed Wang were all connected to the Wang family in some way.

Amid such extravagant and decadent Wang family, Wang Yan felt her father lived like an anomaly.

Because her grandfather had passed away early and missed the enfeoffments, Wang Yan's father lived the most modest life among them. He had grown up rotating between his uncles' households. Perhaps because of this dependent upbringing, her father was humble, rigorous, and meticulous in his simple lifestyle. After the family division, he supported his mother and widowed sister-in-law, treating his brother's orphaned children better than his own sons. Combined with his perseverance in studies, respect for elders, love for the young, and humble courtesy, he quickly became a model figure against the backdrop of the Wang family's spoiled heirs, gaining widespread renown.Wang Yan knew many people praised her father, but she could also tell that some were sincere while others carried tones of sarcasm and mockery. Her family truly lived in poverty. Even though her father had once held the position of Grand Marshal, his salary and rewards were all distributed to his subordinates or commoners. Now nine years old, Wang Yan did not have a single piece of jewelry on her. Once, her mother was mistaken for a maidservant by a junior official visiting her father, illustrating just how plainly her mother dressed.

Her right hand grew sore from carrying the food container, so Wang Yan switched it to her left hand and lifted the hem of her skirt with her right. To save money, her dark green ruqun had been made intentionally large to accommodate her growing body, but the long skirt dragged on the ground, making it difficult to walk. Usually, her mother was the one who brought meals to her father, but ever since her second brother passed away, her parents had completely fallen out. Her mother never showed her father a pleasant expression anymore.

Thinking of her beloved second brother, a look of sorrow crossed Wang Yan's young face. Even though more than half a year had passed and the family had moved back to Chang'an from their fiefdom Xindu, she could never forget what had happened.

Emperor Cheng of Han had passed away, and the new emperor ascended the throne, bringing the Fu family—a new maternal relatives' clan—into power. The Fu family, seeking to replicate the Wang family's former glory, first targeted the prominent members of the Wang clan. Wang Yan's father resigned from his post in disgrace and retreated to Xindu to live in seclusion. Though they left behind the bustle of Chang'an, the family had grown accustomed to this quiet, low-key life. But not everyone adapted so easily.

Even dogs bully others when backed by power, let alone humans.

Her mother had always been gentle-natured, and her father kept a simple household. Wang Yan and her four brothers were all born to the same mother, so there was no need for scheming to manage the family. However, the servants around her father were submissive and obedient in his presence but revealed ferocious and cruel faces behind his back. After moving to Xindu, far from Chang'an and surrounded by commoners, they grew increasingly arrogant and tyrannical. Once, her second brother Wang Huo witnessed a servant oppressing commoners and nearly driving an innocent woman to her death. His long-suppressed anger erupted, and he threw a punch. The servant fell, struck his head on a brick, and unfortunately died.

In truth, this was not a major incident. In the Han Dynasty, slaves were considered their masters' property. The number of slaves, like horses, cattle, and sheep, was registered in household records and taxed accordingly. It was like having a bowl in the house—if it broke, it broke, regardless of whether it was an accident or intentional. Moreover, that servant deserved his fate. When Wang Yan heard about it, she was only momentarily stunned and did not dwell on it.

But in her father's eyes, it was a grave matter.

He scolded Wang Huo not with harsh words but with sage teachings that Wang Yan could not understand. Already overwhelmed with guilt for accidentally killing someone, Wang Huo took his own life that very night in despair.

Wang Yan still remembered that night vividly. Her father would rather believe others' one-sided accounts than trust his own son, steadfastly adhering to his Confucian principles of punishing evil and promoting good.

But what defined good and evil? Was sparing lives inherently good? Was standing by indifferently good? Was sacrificing one's own kin for righteousness good?Yet, because of the incident where her second brother gave his life for a family servant, her father caught the attention of the powerful nobles in Chang'an, who all urged him to return to public service. Soon after, they returned to Chang'an, but Wang Yan was not happy in the slightest. This was bought with her second brother's life—she would rather have done without it.

Because of her second brother's death, her mother shut herself away, her two older brothers grew distant from their father, and the servants in the Wang residence were fearful, avoiding the family for fear of incurring the wrath of the other brothers. So now, the task of bringing meals to her father fell solely to her.

Wang Yan crossed the desolate courtyard to her father's study, knocked on the door with practiced ease, and entered after receiving permission. She bent down to place the food box on the low table, unsurprised to see her father examining a ceremonial cap.

It was a xiezhi crown.

Wang Yan had always been close to her father and knew that this xiezhi crown was a gift from his mentor. Legend had it that the xiezhi was a mythical beast. During Emperor Yao's reign, it was kept in the palace and could distinguish between good and evil. When it detected a corrupt official, it would gore the person with the horn on its head and devour them. During the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods, it was said that King Wen of Chu also possessed a xiezhi. Later, a crown modeled after its likeness was made and worn, making the xiezhi crown fashionable in the state of Chu. During the Qin dynasty, law enforcement officials wore the xiezhi crown, and the Han dynasty, inheriting Qin traditions, did the same. Commoners referred to it as the "law crown," worn by those who upheld the law.

Wang Yan's father was not an imperial censor, so he had never worn the xiezhi crown. He only kept it in his study as a reminder to discern right from wrong, punish evil, and promote good. In the past, Wang Yan had felt reverence upon seeing the crown, but since her second brother's death, she found it absurd—though she kept this to herself.

"Yan'er." Wang Mang set down the xiezhi crown and affectionately beckoned her over. Wang Mang sported a fine beard, exuding the elegance of a scholar. His gentle and humble nature made him approachable and warm.

Wang Yan obediently knelt beside her father, tilting her face up with a serene smile.

Wang Mang softly patted her head and sighed. "You've been raised so well. If not for the current emperor's disinterest in women, I would certainly consider sending you to the palace."

Wang Yan lowered her gaze, staring at the smudge of dirt on her skirt, inwardly dismissive. Her father was truly confused—she was only nine years old, far from the age of maturity. The current emperor was already twenty-five; even if he were interested in women (which he wasn't, as he exclusively favored the current Grand Marshal), he would hardly take notice of a young girl like her!

Since his second son's suicide, Wang Mang's wife and sons had grown distant. He only had his daughter to talk to, not expecting her to understand much.

Bored, Wang Yan let her wandering eyes drift and was startled to find the xiezhi crown on the table had vanished, replaced by a palm-sized white lamb!

Disbelieving, she blinked several times, almost convinced she was dreaming. Yet, her father's murmuring voice persisted in her ears, while another voice distinctly echoed in her mind.

【Girl, can you see me?】

Wang Yan stared in shock at the small lamb that had suddenly appeared on the table—though, to be precise, it wasn't exactly a lamb."What's wrong, Yan'er?" His daughter's unusual expression put Wang Mang on alert. He quickly followed her gaze and found she was looking at the Xie Zhi crown beside his hand.

"Nothing... it's nothing..." Realizing her father couldn't see the suddenly appearing little lamb, Wang Yan asked curiously, "Father, what does the Xie Zhi look like?"

"The Xie Zhi is a divine sheep, with the body of a lamb and the head of a qilin, bearing a single horn on its forehead." Rarely did his daughter ask him questions, so Wang Mang mustered all his patience.

A lamb's body, a head like a qilin's, and a single horn on the forehead... As Wang Yan listened to her father's description, she compared it with the little lamb before her, growing more alarmed the more she looked. This was clearly a Xie Zhi!

"Yan'er, do you know the character 'shan' (goodness)? The character 'shan' has the radical for 'sheep' on top. The Xie Zhi can distinguish between good and evil, right and wrong—it is indeed a divine sheep." Wang Mang couldn't recall if he had ever explained the origin of the Xie Zhi crown to Wang Yan before, so he elaborated in detail, not noticing his daughter's distracted state.

[What he says is true, but only those who are supremely good can see my true form.] The Xie Zhi blinked its dark eyes, and Wang Yan could actually detect a hint of laughter in them.

But Wang Yan felt a chill run down her spine. She didn't believe that being able to see a divine beast was necessarily a good thing. Otherwise, why had she never seen it before, only today? She... was not a supremely good person.

But why couldn't her father see the Xie Zhi? Was even he not a supremely good person?

[Your father is a hypocrite, so naturally he sees me as nothing.]

Seeing that the Xie Zhi could read her thoughts, Wang Yan was terrified. But then she reconsidered—this was a divine beast, so such abilities were hardly surprising. However, hearing it call her father a hypocrite made her somewhat displeased.

The Xie Zhi chuckled and continued, [When your father was young, even the slightest show of respect to his elders would earn him praise. He became obsessed with such accolades, suppressing his true nature. The goodness he displayed for the sake of praise was not genuine—it was hypocrisy.]

Wang Yan stood frozen, unwilling to believe the Xie Zhi's words, yet each syllable struck deep into her heart.

Why had her father always clung to poverty? Why had he remained so scrupulously upright? Why had he been willing to drive his own son to death, all for the sake of universal acclaim?

Was it all for the sake of reputation...

[One person's good can be another's evil. Earlier, I saw you save that butterfly, but what of the spider that worked so hard to weave its web? Did it not starve because of you? Both are living beings in this world—the spider is ugly, the butterfly beautiful. Why save the butterfly and harm the spider? If it were not a dying butterfly but a mosquito caught in the web, what would you do? Save it or not?]

Wang Yan's mind was thrown into chaos by the Xie Zhi's relentless questions. She didn't even know how she managed to bid her father farewell and leave.

All she remembered was that on this early summer evening, as she stumbled along the corridor, she inadvertently caught sight of the torn spiderweb, its scattered threads dancing wildly in the wind.

The divine beast Xie Zhi, visible only to her, became Wang Yan's nightmare.

It would often appear silently around her. Though it no longer communicated with her, its dark, penetrating gaze always sent shivers down her spine, forcing her to repeatedly ponder whether each action she took was good or evil.However, such torment did not last long before Wang Yan found peace with it. She was neither a deity nor a saint—how could she possibly achieve perfection? She tried her best to treat the ever-present Xie Zhi as nonexistent, yet due to the words it had spoken, her filial admiration for her father had already diminished considerably.

In the height of summer that year, Emperor Ai of Han died young, leaving no heirs. The Grand Marshal Dong Xian, who had been exclusively favored by Emperor Ai, followed the emperor to the grave. Wang Yan’s father resumed his position as Grand Marshal, installing the young Prince of Zhongshan as the new emperor, who was the same age as Wang Yan.

With a weak ruler and powerful ministers, even though Wang Yan knew little about court politics, she understood that her father must be holding absolute power.

Yet her father had always valued his reputation, and this dominance would not leave room for criticism. It was said that her father extended favors and rewards to the nobility above and provided for widowers, widows, orphans, and the childless among the common people below. In times of disaster, he took the lead in donating and fully supporting relief efforts, earning widespread praise from both the court and the public, who hailed him as the reincarnation of the Duke of Zhou. Good deeds—who couldn’t perform them? Moreover, from her father’s position, sometimes he only needed to make a gesture, and countless others would rush to carry out his will.

Wang Yan quietly stayed in the still simple and dilapidated residence, accompanying her mother in needlework, occasionally spacing out at the elusive Xie Zhi. Time flowed swiftly like water, slipping through her fingers.

In the blink of an eye, the new emperor turned twelve, the age at which the Rites of Zhou permitted marriage. Wang Yan heard that her father had issued an edict selecting six noblewomen from across the land to be considered for the position of empress. To avoid suspicion, he publicly crossed out her name. Instead, this move sparked strong public protest. Many officials deemed it unfair, and crowds gathered daily at the palace gates or outside the princely residence to submit petitions.

Wang Yan initially thought her father had done the right thing, as she had no desire to enter the palace as empress. But when she saw the Xie Zhi, lounging on a cushion, gazing at her with a knowing, almost mocking look, she was suddenly struck with alarm.

Was this another of her father’s tactics?

When she heard the crowd outside the courtyard loudly chanting, “We wish for the Duke’s daughter to become the mother of the nation,” she knew that she was destined to become empress.

Wang Yan truly did not wish to marry. She had once fantasized about her future husband but had never imagined it would be the emperor. Yet she had no choice but to marry. Her eldest brother, Wang Yu, who had opposed their father at home, believed that their father’s obstinacy would offend the new emperor and had attempted to secretly aid the emperor’s maternal clan to prevent their exile. However, the plan was leaked, and her brother was swiftly arrested, imprisoned, and handed a cup of poisoned wine by their father himself. Moreover, her father pinned the blame on the emperor’s maternal clan, using it as a pretext to eliminate them entirely. The court’s view of the matter was that her father had upheld justice by sacrificing his own kin and prioritizing public duty over personal ties.

Thus, Wang Yan could not refuse the marriage, for it was undoubtedly her father’s expectation.

Her father had already attained power equivalent to that of the emperor. Even if he could not ascend the throne himself, he wanted a descendant of his own bloodline to sit on it.

Yet, when Wang Yan, for the first time in her life, adorned from head to toe with golden hairpins, jade pendants, and heavy makeup, sat in the Weiyang Palace in her most beautiful attire, she knew she would never bear the emperor’s child.

Because he simply would not let her near him.

It seemed the emperor was just as aware of her father’s intentions.

Just as the illustrious Emperor Wu of Han, Liu Che, had the childhood name Liu Zhi, the children of the imperial family, much like those of commoners, were given crude childhood names in the hope that they would be easier to raise.Before Wang Mang gave him the name Liu Kan, he was known as Liu Jizi. This "Ji" did not refer to the celestial constellation, but rather to the winnowing basket used for sifting rice or trash. Fortunately, with Emperor Wu of Han's childhood name "Liu Yezhu" (Liu Wild Boar) as a precedent, Liu Kan was actually quite satisfied with his own childhood name.

But now he was called Liu Kan. This name was given to him by the person he hated most. Liu Kan, Liu Kan—did that person want to have him chopped down? It certainly didn't mean happiness and stability! Looking at how everything from his name to his empress had been arranged by that man, how could he possibly feel happy or stable?

Feeling stifled in the palace, Liu Kan naturally showed no kindness to Wang Yan. From the second day after she entered the palace, Wang Yan washed off all her makeup, took off the heavy ceremonial robes, and returned to wearing simple old clothes. The palace maids had reminded her that this wouldn't please the emperor, but Wang Yan remained calm. The emperor disliked her because of her father. She couldn't change her family background, so whether she dressed beautifully or plainly made no difference. Why make herself uncomfortable?

Besides, with her father's influence, which palace maid would dare sneak into the emperor's bed? That would be risking their lives. Even the young emperor himself probably didn't dare to appoint consorts or take beauties without permission.

Moreover, Wang Yan could see that the young emperor lacked both the will and the ability.

Liu Kan was the same age as her, but his health was poor. He frequently suffered from heart pain, chest congestion, and rebellious qi—ailments said to have been present since birth. This was likely why her father had chosen Liu Kan from among the countless Liu clan members: young, sickly, and posing no threat whatsoever.

Seeing the young emperor putting on a cold, hard front while actually being weak—even during arguments he would often clutch his chest, gasping for breath—Wang Yan couldn't help but feel sympathy. Despite his icy demeanor, she always treated him gently and attended to him carefully.

Having been independent since childhood, Wang Yan never allowed palace maids to serve her closely. She handled whatever tasks she could manage herself. In the process, she also took meticulous care of Liu Kan. Wang Yan had younger brothers, but after her second brother died, her father and mother never spoke to each other again. Her father quickly took concubines, but Wang Yan never acknowledged the children born to these concubines as her siblings and never showed them any warmth. She cared for Liu Kan as if he were her younger brother, no matter how much he sneered or mocked her, she devoted herself wholeheartedly.

"Do not trouble the Empress." This was Liu Kan's frequent refrain.

But Wang Yan acted as if she didn't hear, personally attending to Liu Kan's daily needs in clothing, food, and living. Liu Kan, being of imperial blood, was naturally handsome. Though young, short in stature, and weak in breath, he already carried considerable grace. Sometimes when Wang Yan tied his robe sash, she would find herself staring at him in a daze.

How could there be such a beautiful person in the world?

The young emperor's thin frame could barely support the heavy imperial robes, revealing only a fraction of royal dignity while inevitably evoking feelings of pity.

This was her husband, her sovereign.Wang Yan became increasingly diligent and attentive. Although she knew her father was unlikely to move against the young emperor so soon, she personally inspected everything meant for consumption, tasting each item before presenting it to Liu Kan.

Liu Kan was not made of stone either. As days turned into weeks of shared moments, the young emperor and empress grew closer, their bond deepening like two adolescents just discovering companionship.

Yet, over the three years since Wang Yan entered the palace, Liu Kan's health had steadily declined. The Chief Physician and multiple deputy physicians diagnosed him with heartache syndrome—an ailment that proved incurable despite lavish care and nourishment. Holding a bowl of medicinal broth, Wang Yan followed her routine by taking a sip first before offering it to the bedridden Liu Kan. But he abruptly swatted it away, sending the bowl shattering to the floor.

Without changing expression, Wang Yan summoned palace maids to clean the mess and instructed the kitchen to prepare another serving of the medicinal broth.

"Hmph, this lad surely suspects you of poisoning him. Aren't you going to explain?" The Xiezhi lazily rolled over on the luxurious soft couch, continuing its sarcastic commentary on Wang Yan and Liu Kan's interactions. In its view, Wang Yan's kindness toward Liu Kan was utterly unnecessary—she could clearly live more happily by ignoring whether Liu Kan lived or died, especially since Liu Kan showed such ingratitude.

Yet Wang Yan knew explanations would be useless. Liu Kan was trapped in a difficult situation, making it impossible for him not to be suspicious. Compounded by his worsening illness, his temper had grown increasingly volatile. Sitting by the bedside, watching Liu Kan cough as if tearing his heart and lungs apart, Wang Yan quietly lit a stick of sandalwood incense. As the curling fragrance filled the air and Liu Kan gradually calmed into slumber, she finally let out a soft sigh of relief.

"The world knows only of the Wang family, not of His Majesty anymore." The Xiezhi pinched its throat to mimic a young eunuch's tone, then cackled gleefully at its own jest.

Wang Yan shot it a glance, aware that this creature was no mythical beast capable of distinguishing good from evil, but rather a troublemaker thriving on chaos. Fortunately, only she could see it—otherwise, who knew what havoc it might wreak. Though she'd gladly forego such "luck." Sighing inwardly, she approached the bed to tuck Liu Kan in properly when sudden commotion outside the hall caught her attention.

Unwilling to let Liu Xian, who had finally fallen asleep with great difficulty, be disturbed, Wang Yan furrowed her delicate brows and stepped out, silencing the panicked maids and eunuchs. Though not yet sixteen, she had been empress for three years. Despite wearing no light, thin silk fabrics and merely sporting a simple phoenix coral hairpin, her commanding presence made none dare underestimate her. After quieting the servants, she asked in a low, displeased tone, "What causes such alarm?"

"Your Majesty, there are assassins!" The maids trembled as they knelt, relaying everything they'd heard.

Wang Yan's brows tightened further. Strictly speaking, the intruder wasn't an assassin but a thief. Someone had infiltrated the Grand Empress Dowager's palace, ransacking her bedchamber. But Wang Yan's great-aunt championed frugality—why would a thief capable of breaching the palace target the least lucrative location? Unless they sought a specific treasure kept by the Grand Empress Dowager? Wang Yan suddenly recalled the Imperial Jade Seal—the Heirloom Seal of the Realm—was stored with her great-aunt. She specifically inquired about missing items and, receiving a negative response, nodded in relief.

Ordering the guards to redouble their vigilance, Wang Yan pondered as she returned to the hall. But upon passing through layers of curtains, she heard voices inside. Only the sleeping Liu Kan should be there—who else could it be? Startled, she remembered the earlier thief and nearly cried out. Fearing the intruder might have taken Liu Kan hostage, she forced herself to listen intently.A clear male voice was heard: "...Are you saying we're in the Han Dynasty now? Well, that makes sense—there isn't even a single chair or table here. And there's no boss either... Huh? Holy shit! This lamb on the soft couch is actually alive! Why does its head look like a qilin? And it has horns on its forehead! Damn! What kind of mythical beast is this? Did it escape from the Classic of Mountains and Seas too?"

Wang Yan was momentarily stunned, and for some reason, her anxious heart settled. Although the xiezhi was always unreliable, she believed its claim that only those of utmost virtue could see it.

Then another, steadier male voice spoke up: "Keep your voice down. Can't you see someone sleeping on the bed? Do you want to wake them and have the guards arrest us? And what lamb? I don't see anything."

"...You can't see it? Fine. Maybe it's some strange mythical beast that escaped from the Classic of Mountains and Seas. Just ignore it... Huh? Wait, the person on the bed has congenital heart disease! Look at him—cyanosis is already visible on his lips, nose tip, and cheeks. He must frequently experience difficulty breathing or fainting spells."

"You're not thinking of treating him, are you?"

"Can't be treated. If this were modern times, a minor surgery would solve it, but in this era..."

Wang Yan clutched the collar of her robe over her chest, too distressed to speak. She didn't catch the rest of their conversation. She had no idea who these two men were or why one of them could see the xiezhi, but she could tell that Liu Kan's condition was far from optimistic.

After quietly wiping her tears and collecting herself, Wang Yan realized the bedchamber had returned to silence. She tiptoed inside and confirmed that aside from the slumbering Liu Kan, there were no outsiders present.

The xiezhi lay pensively on the soft couch and, meeting Wang Yan's questioning gaze, slowly yawned.

The incident of intruders in the Weiyang Palace caused a stir but ultimately faded without resolution.

As the weather grew colder, Liu Kan's health deteriorated further. He often lay awake through entire nights, and his complexion rapidly worsened. By year's end, with constant palace banquets underway, Liu Kan had missed several. On one occasion when he finally felt well enough to rise, he ignored Wang Yan's protests and dragged his ailing body to a banquet.

Wang Yan understood his pride. After all, he was the emperor of the nation, yet now he lacked even the strength to attend court sessions, let alone host palace banquets—her father had taken over those duties. Her grandmother, the grand empress dowager, was too advanced in years to attend any palace events, while Empress Dowager Fu, having lost her power struggle, remained secluded in the rear palace. Wang Yan herself, often occupied with caring for Liu Kan, rarely appeared at such gatherings. In truth, women held significant power in the Han Dynasty; she could have involved herself in state affairs or attended court hearings if she wished, to say nothing of joining a banquet. Still uneasy, Wang Yan changed into formal attire and accompanied Liu Kan.

Her father remained as refined and courteous as ever, even rising to propose a toast to Liu Kan with sincere reverence...

All eyes in the hall were fixed on the young emperor seated at the highest place, yet no one stood to remark that his condition made him utterly unfit to drink.Wang Yan sat below Liu Kan, aware that the heavy imperial robes were nearly crushing his frail body. Watching his feeble hand tremble uncontrollably as it held the wine cup, she suddenly recalled a memory from many years ago—a beautiful butterfly struggling in its death throes on a spiderweb on a summer afternoon.

Rising gracefully, Wang Yan walked to Liu Kan’s side. Under the astonished gazes of the entire court, she naturally took the wine cup from his hand and said with serene composure, "Father, the Emperor is unwell. This humble one shall drink in his stead." With that, she raised her head and drained the cup in one go.

As the cup was set back on the table with a faint, crisp sound, Wang Yan’s already delicate features flushed with the wine’s warmth, her cheeks glowing like fine rouge. She glanced at her father, standing expressionless below the steps, then at Liu Kan beside her, whose eyes shone with indescribable delight, and knew she had made the right choice today.

Everyone present understood that the wine could not possibly be poisoned. If her father wished Liu Kan dead, he would never resort to such a clumsy method that would invite criticism and suspicion. Her father likely intended only to deliver a warning to the defiant Liu Kan—a single cup of wine that would cause the ailing emperor days of suffering and restless torment, yet one he would have to endure with humiliation. After this lesson, Liu Kan would likely retreat obediently to his bedchamber, never again daring to appear before the court.

Yet she had intervened on his behalf, even at the risk of defying her father. For the first time, she had declared her stance before the entire court.

Lowering her gaze, Wang Yan smiled wryly to herself. He was her husband—how could she abandon him?

The banquet concluded in an eerie atmosphere. Back in her bedchamber, Wang Yan sat before the bronze mirror, removing the hairpins from her tresses, and wondered if she should issue a proclamation seeking renowned physicians from across the land. After all, even the imperial physicians might be under her father’s control—what if Liu Kan’s illness had been misdiagnosed all along?

Anxiety clouds judgment.

Staring at the shattered amethyst carved hairpin on the floor, Wang Yan felt the taste of despair for the first time.

【Defying your father—how unfilial of you.】 The teasing voice of the Xiezhì came from the daybed. Though it had not left the chamber, it spoke as if it had witnessed everything firsthand.

If she was unfilial, did that mean she was no longer a person of utmost virtue? Yet why could she still see the Xiezhì? Wang Yan had grown accustomed to treating the Xiezhì as nonexistent, but she couldn’t help retorting inwardly.

【Good and evil are not so easily distinguished.】 The Xiezhì blinked its dark eyes and continued mysteriously, 【One person’s good may be another’s evil.】

Wang Yan’s heart twisted sharply. She suddenly remembered how her second and eldest brothers had been mercilessly driven to their deaths by her father—even his own sons had not been spared his ruthlessness.

As if cursed, no sooner had the Xiezhì’s words faded than cries of alarm erupted from the main hall. Such disturbances were common in Weiyang Palace—it was surely Liu Kan fainting again.

But this time, the commotion seemed more intense, and faint sobs from the palace maids could be heard.

As if anticipating the worst, Wang Yan bent to pick up the fragments of the shattered amethyst hairpin, her heart as still as dead ashes.In the twelfth month of the fifth year of Yuanshi, on the day of Bingwu, Liu Kan succumbed to a relapse of his illness and passed away in the Weiyang Palace at the age of fifteen. He was posthumously honored as Emperor Xiaoping.

The flower of love in Wang Yan's heart, which had only just begun to bud, was mercilessly crushed by fate, swiftly withering and turning to ashes.

At just fifteen, she became the Empress Dowager, though this time, the one ascending the throne was not her son but a two-year-old child selected by her father from the Liu clan.

Wang Yan felt she ought to be grateful. If her father had chosen an immature child as emperor earlier, she would never have been able to marry Liu Kan. Though their time together was brief—only three years—she considered it the happiest period of her life.

Despite her supreme status, Wang Yan refrained from meddling in court politics. She knew she had a kind heart but also possessed self-awareness. Sometimes, good intentions do not necessarily translate into good deeds for others. The words that the Xiezhi creature often repeated were not without reason. She watched coldly as her father, after three years of restraint, finally could no longer resist deposing the child emperor and seizing the throne for himself.

Filled with guilt, her father enfeoffed her as the Huangshi Princess. She shut the doors of her palace, keeping only a few palace maids to attend to her, and refused to see anyone, living a secluded life.

In truth, her life was not entirely dull. When the Xiezhi had nothing better to do, it would chat with her and tell stories. Legend has it that when Han Gaozu Liu Bang beheaded the white serpent to rise in rebellion, the serpent, being a spiritual creature, spoke in human tongue, vowing that Liu Bang would face retribution: "If you cut off my head, I will usurp the head of the Han; if you cut off my tail, I will usurp the tail of the Han." In the end, Liu Bang cleaved the serpent in two with a single stroke, so it was foretold that the Han dynasty would face turmoil in its middle period.

Wang Yan did not dismiss the Xiezhi's tale as mere gossip. She knew her father's usurpation of the Han was built on shaky foundations and that it was only a matter of time before the Liu clan reclaimed power.

In fact, Wang Yan understood that while her father had ambitions, he was not merely hypocritical by habit—he genuinely wished to do good. He sought to revive the ritual system of the Western Zhou era, hoping to restore a state governed by rites and music, which had long collapsed. Thus, his new policies were entirely modeled after the Zhou dynasty's institutions.

But the ritual system was an outdated institution. The legalist system of Qin Shi Huang and the Confucian system of Emperor Wu of Han had both succeeded in unifying the realm. Her father, in his extreme hypocrisy, remained utterly unaware of the immense harm his revival of the ritual system would inflict on the court, the officials, and the common people. It was like releasing a land tortoise into water—a well-intentioned act that ultimately became a wicked deed.

Wang Yan watched coldly as her father walked toward his doom, knowing that no words of hers could dissuade him.

Time did not drag on for long. When the rebel armies overthrew the Xin dynasty, stormed the Weiyang Palace, and set it ablaze, the Xiezhi stood atop the head of a bronze crane in front of the hall, watching as Wang Yan strode into the sea of flames without looking back.

["Do you regret it?"] The Xiezhi's deep black pupils reflected the raging flames. At this moment, Wang Yan was in the prime of a woman's life. Her first decade and more had been spent in hardship and loneliness, and though the subsequent years were lived in the most luxurious of palaces, she remained isolated and desolate.

Wang Yan's footsteps did not falter. Did she regret it?Perhaps if she had chosen to stand by Liu Kan's side earlier, it would have brought disaster upon him sooner, but she still did not regret the choice she made back then.

Though she could not distinguish between good and evil in this world, if she were to return to that summer afternoon, even if given another chance to choose, she would still save the butterfly. Its desperate struggle in the face of death left her unable to remain indifferent, even though she ought to have sided with the spider. It was just a pity that her ability only allowed her to save a small butterfly for a fleeting moment...

Wang Yan's graceful figure was swiftly engulfed by the flames. The Xie Zhi stared into the sea of fire, falling into a prolonged silence.

In its long, long life, many people could not see it. Some could, while others went from being able to see it to losing that ability. But no one had ever been like Wang Yan—someone it had watched depart from this world.

Following one's true heart is the ultimate goodness.

Could it be that this woman, from life to death, had always maintained a heart of ultimate goodness?

The Xie Zhi nimbly leaped down from the tall bronze crane. Once again, this world had one fewer person who could see it.

With a flick of its body, it effortlessly found the Xie Zhi Crown, covered in dust in a corner of the storeroom. It lazily yawned, rolled back into the crown, and sank into a long slumber...

AD 2013

"Huh? So the young man we just saw was Emperor Ping of Han, Liu Kan?" The Doctor lay on the Huanghuali recliner in the Dumb Shop, scrolling through a webpage on his phone to look up information. "Wang Mang usurped the Han Dynasty, and some say Wang Mang was the reincarnation of the white serpent that Liu Bang once slew—hence the name 'Mang.' When Liu Bang killed the white serpent to start his uprising, he cut it right in the middle, and the Western Han and Eastern Han dynasties each lasted exactly two hundred years. Wow, that's incredible. Could that white serpent be related to Bailu?"

Lu Zigang paid no attention to the Doctor's rambling. He was also looking up information.

A body like a sheep, a head like a qilin, with a single horn on its forehead... That was the Xie Zhi?! And why was it that he saw nothing at all, while the Doctor could see it? Could the rumor that only those of ultimate goodness could see the Xie Zhi be true?

Lu Zigang chuckled to himself. Ultimate goodness? More like pure-hearted fools, right? That certainly fit the Doctor's personality. Besides, legends of unicorns existed in both the East and the West, and they were surprisingly consistent: unicorns could distinguish between right and wrong, good and evil, and favored pure-hearted maidens.

But in this world, only fools could truly be purely good and selfless, right?

His own selfish desires...

Lu Zigang tightened his grip on the object in his palm. If the Doctor had glanced his way, he would have found it strikingly familiar.

Because it was the very thing he had worn for twenty-four years.

The white jade Longevity Lock, now inlaid with gold thread.

(End of Chapter)