The Golden Hairpin

Huang Zixiao shook her head and said, "Unfortunately, though we passed each other at the Outer Music Academy, I never actually saw her."

"Hmm... And I will never have the chance to see what my daughter grew up to look like." She sighed softly and murmured, "The last time I saw Xuese, she had just turned five. I was twenty-three then. Jingxiu—Cheng Jingxiu, my husband at the time—who had always claimed he didn’t mind my background as a courtesan, suddenly told me that growing up in such a place would be harmful to our daughter. He insisted I leave with him."

Huang Zixiao didn’t understand why the Empress was suddenly sharing this with her. But surrounded by the deathly silence of the desolate palace, where the endless nights stretched ahead with no visible path forward or back, she found herself listening sympathetically as the Empress continued.

"Actually, the Yunsiao Pavilion was a performance house, not a brothel. All of us sisters made our living through our arts, maintaining our dignity and self-respect. But after several arguments with Jingxiu, I had no choice but to agree. I took our daughter and followed him north to the capital, hoping for better opportunities. He believed his painting skills would surely earn him recognition in grand Chang’an."

"Unfortunately, the journey was fraught with unrest—bandits and soldiers running amok—and most of my savings were lost along the way. By the time we reached Chang’an, we were nearly penniless and could only afford to rent a tiny room. At first, Jingxiu went out to seek his fortune, but without connections, who would recommend him? Soon, the constant rejection and disdain wore him down, and he stopped leaving the house altogether, sitting inside sighing in despair."

"In Yangzhou, Jingxiu had been charming and carefree, spending his days painting for pleasure and treating me with tenderness. We were very happy then. But once we reached Chang’an, poverty exposed the harsh realities of life. I suddenly realized the man I had chosen lacked even the basic ability to survive. Then Xuese fell ill. In that damp, freezing little room, I had to pawn even the leaf-vein dew hairpin Jingxiu had given me as a token of love. We were starving, barely clothed, and had no means to treat our daughter’s illness... I carried Xuese to every clinic I could find, but without money, even kneeling and weeping at their doors did nothing to move them. When Jingxiu came to drag me home, scolding me for embarrassing him, I could only hold my daughter through the night, wiping her feverish body, listening to her ragged breaths, watching the sky outside gradually lighten... Those nights felt just like this—endless, hopeless, as if closing my eyes for even a moment would mean losing everything before me..."

Even though these events had happened twelve years ago, the pain in her voice was as raw and cutting as ever, slicing open the deepest wounds in her heart. She lay against the pillow, her vacant eyes unfocused, her words drifting and disordered, as though she weren’t speaking to Huang Zixiao at all.

"Xuese was strong—she survived. But Jingxiu, weighed down by depression, fell ill next. Facing eviction from our shabby room for unpaid rent, I had no choice but to sneak out to the West Market alone, without telling Jingxiu, to seek any opportunity I could find.""I remember it vividly. It was the dead of winter, and the withered leaves of the locust trees were falling one by one along the streets of the West Market. A woman around fifty or sixty years old, draped in tattered brown hemp clothes, sat begging at the entrance of the market. She clutched an old, peeling pipa, its lacquer cracked and faded, singing a discordant tune in a hoarse voice. Her filthy, tangled hair piled messily on her shoulders, framing a face so dirty and wrinkled it resembled weathered stone covered in dried moss. But there was no helping it… her ragged clothes couldn’t shield her from the knife-like cold wind. Her hands were cracked and bleeding, her lips chapped and purplish. And the pipa’s tuning pegs had long been neglected, its strings slack and out of tune—how could it possibly produce a proper melody?"

Tears finally slid slowly down Empress Wang’s vacant eyes. Covering her face, she choked out, "You wouldn’t understand… the despair I felt then. That day, I stood before that woman for a long, long time. It was a cold, drizzly afternoon, and the West Market was deserted. As I looked at her, it was as if I saw myself thirty years later—once a dazzling blossom, now reduced to a filthy, tattered mess… alone, destitute, and sick, dying numb and desolate on the streets, my bones rotting away unnoticed, with no one knowing I had once possessed beauty and talent that drew the admiration of thousands…"

She took a long, trembling breath, then said with difficulty, "That very afternoon, I abandoned all my naivety and realized that so-called love is, in reality, utterly fragile. What I truly needed wasn’t to cling to Jingxiu for survival—it was to live, and to live well, so that I would never end up holding a pipa and begging in the West Market!"

Huang Zimo silently watched her, saying nothing.

"Right at that moment, I ran into a sister who had once studied the arts with me. She had been so clumsy—plain-looking, always hitting the wrong notes on the pipa, unable to master even one song after three months of practice. But she had married a tea merchant. Dressed in brand-new brocade, with a large golden flower pinned at her temple and seven or eight hairpins adorning her head, she exuded the rustic air of a country bumpkin suddenly turned rich—yet she was a hundred times more glamorous than I was. She called out to me from her carriage as I walked alone by the street, her expression a mix of pity and smugness, asking how I had fallen so low and whether I needed help finding work as a pipa teacher.""At that time, she didn’t even step out of her carriage, looking down at me with a smile, yet I still considered it my good fortune. I had truly reached the end of my rope, and without her, I didn’t know what step I would have taken next. I followed her to the Langya Wang family, claiming only to be a distant relative of hers who had been orphaned and left destitute in the capital. My pipa skills impressed everyone, so I was allowed to stay. I went back to gather a few clothes and gave the little money my sister had given me to Jingxiu, saying, 'Once I receive my monthly allowance, I’ll send more.'" Her voice was faint, barely audible. "At that time, I didn’t even tell him where I was going. Xue Se clung to my leg, crying bitterly, and I could only steel myself to pick her up and place her in Jingxiu’s arms. He just watched me silently. As I walked out of the courtyard gate, he remained silent. Unable to resist, I turned back to look at my husband and daughter, only to see Jingxiu holding Xue Se on the bed, the last rays of the setting sun reflecting in his eyes. Those hollow eyes stared at me, stared at me—even now, they still haunt me..."

Her voice grew softer and softer, almost vanishing. But in her eyes, a mad, flickering flame burned, chilling to the heart.

Huang Zixiang couldn’t help but murmur, "You must have been very reluctant to leave Xue Se."

"Yes, but I had to live my own life. I couldn’t take care of her anymore." Empress Wang’s gaze turned to her, a cold smile playing on her lips. "Not long after I began teaching the pipa at the Wang family, Prince Yun visited. When I stepped out holding my pipa, I saw something ignite in his eyes. Back in Yangzhou, many men had looked at me that way, and I had always ignored them. But at that moment, for some reason, I hesitated—just for a moment—before I smiled at him gently, holding my pipa, adopting the tender, upward glance that Jingxiu had loved most. Sure enough, Wang Lin soon came to discuss with me, saying Prince Yun had mistaken me for a daughter of the Wang family and wanted me to play along and enter his household. Wang Lin was desperate to revive his family’s fortunes, grasping at straws—he didn’t know I was from the entertainment class, let alone that I had a husband and daughter. And as I listened to him, it felt like a dream. Images flashed before me—the old pipa player in the Western Market, her filthy face, lips, hands... I agreed immediately! At that moment, I told myself, like a moth drawn to flame, even if I died, I would die in a place of dazzling splendor!

"The world is absurd like that. For the past twelve years, I’ve thrived in the palace, living better than anyone else. I quietly eliminated the sister who had recommended me to the Wang family, spent years ensuring Consort Guo fell out of favor, and rose from Ronghua to Zhaoyi to Defei to Empress. Though my Yan’er is only the Emperor’s fifth son, he has already been named Crown Prince—I knew the palace was where I belonged! Standing at the pinnacle of the world, receiving the homage of all, what does it matter if I lost my loved ones and daughter? I live in glorious splendor, the envy of all under heaven!"

Huang Zixiang said softly, "But your daughter refuses to come to the capital to see you. Even if you’ve gained the whole world, your hands are stained with the blood of family, sisters, and disciples. Doesn’t your heart ache with guilt and sorrow?""Remorse? Sorrow?" A trace of almost imperceptible gloom flickered in Empress Wang's cold, hard eyes. But then she raised her chin and glanced at her with a mocking expression. "Twelve years ago, I was just as naive and romantic as you are now. I thought that having a husband and daughter by my side meant happiness, even in poverty and illness. But alas... people change, hearts grow old, and the only thing that remains is the relentless passage of days! When you face the desperate brink of life and death, you'll understand everything!"

Huang Zixiao remained silent for a long while before asking, "So, after that, you never saw Cheng Jingxiu or Xue Se again?"

"No. After deciding to enter Prince Yun's residence, I asked that sister to redeem the leaf-vein dew hairpin I had pawned. I gave it to them along with travel expenses and told them that Mei Wanzhi was dead, and they need not look for her anymore."

Huang Zixiao waited quietly for her to continue, but Empress Wang seemed to have no more to say. She lay listlessly on the couch, lost in the memories of her past amidst the opulence of the palace. After a long silence, she lowered her eyes and smiled bitterly. "Yes, from that day on, Mei Wanzhi died. After that, she feared and hated the pipa, never touching it again. In this world, there is only Wang Shao, living better than anyone else, dwelling in the deep palace, surrounded by splendor. Even in death, I will die in grand halls, wrapped in brocade and silk. In this lifetime, I have known the height of glory—I sought benevolence and attained it."

Such a desolate tone, yet it could not conceal the stubbornness beneath.

She no longer wished to speak and waved her hand slightly, signaling Huang Zixiao to leave.

Just as Huang Zixiao rose to depart, she heard Empress Wang murmur softly behind her, "Three years ago, what I said... was true."

Startled, she turned to look at this cold and resolute woman. Empress Wang, at the far end of the palace, said quietly, "Back then, I saw you at fourteen, walking gracefully under the spring sun in silver-red robes, like a budding cardamom in the wind. Suddenly, I thought to myself—if Xue Se were by my side, she would surely be just as lovely."

The night in Taiji Palace was silent and desolate.

Huang Zixiao retraced her steps, slowly leaving the forsaken palace.

The stars above shifted imperceptibly, the palace lanterns along the way extinguished, the chirping of insects echoing densely in the quiet night.

Huang Zixiao lifted her head to gaze at the sky, at the dense clusters of stars.

If each person's fate were a star, then in this moment, all destinies seemed but insignificant flickers. Life in this world is as fleeting as grass—even if stars fell like rain across the wilderness, it would be but a fleeting brilliance, leaving only a faint sigh millennia later.

She reached the gates of Taiji Palace and stepped through the slowly opening side door.

Under the starry sky, in the dark of night, stood a tall, straight figure. Against the backdrop of the silent moon and stars, he watched her approach, his expression calm. Yet the reflection of the stars and moon in his eyes seemed to ripple faintly, as if stirred by water, the moment he saw her.

Huang Zixiao paused at the palace gates, momentarily lost.

Then he walked toward her, his voice still cool and distant: "What are you standing there for? Let's go.""Your Highness..." Huang Zixiang called out uncertainly, looking up at his silhouette bathed in starlight as she asked softly, "Have you been waiting for me all this time?"

He didn't answer, turning his face away. "Just passing by."

Huang Zixiang gazed at the silent, curfew-bound Chang'an night and couldn't help but smile faintly.

Li Shubai ignored her and turned to walk toward the carriage.

Huang Zixiang hurried after him, then couldn't resist asking, "What if... just hypothetically, if I hadn't understood your hint and really been killed, wouldn't your waiting have been in vain?"

Without turning back, Li Shubai replied, "First, Empress Wang has already fallen from power and is confined to the cold palace. Why would she choose this moment to kill you, the one who exposed her? How would she explain that to the Emperor?"

She thought to herself that having never been involved in palace or court politics, of course she wouldn't know such things. Besides, if it was truly certain to be safe, why had he kicked her into the water three times? Why had he stood waiting here all night?

"And... the second reason?"

"Second." Li Shubai finally glanced sideways at her. In the quiet night, a long wind flowed silently past them.

"If you couldn't even understand such obvious hints, you wouldn't be Huang Zixiang."

Huang Zixiang couldn't help but smile slightly.

Having narrowly escaped disaster, the night felt gentle. She rode with Li Shubai in the carriage toward the Kuiwang residence.

The golden bells on the carriage swayed gently. Inside, a glass vessel hung with a small red fish sleeping quietly at the bottom, like a flower submerged in silent water.

Outside the window, Chang'an's streetlights slowly filtered in and then flowed past.

Bright and dim lights, deep and shallow shadows, the silent passage of time.

The shifting light and shadow hovered in the two-foot space between them, as if frozen in place.

At that same moment, at Chang'an's city gates, Xiao Shi holding a snow-white urn looked up at the vast Milky Way. She clutched the ashes tightly to her chest—the only remains left to her in this world—and wept bitterly.

A hundred miles away, Chen Nianniang, who had fled the capital in haste, trekked across the wind-swept wilderness. Gazing at the endless road ahead beneath the starry sky, she realized she was now utterly alone in the world, with nothing to hold onto except a pair of small jade pendants in her hand.

Under the stars and moon spanning nine provinces and ten thousand miles, the silent night buried all sound.