Time flew like an arrow, with sunrises and sunsets unchanged as ever.
Yet flowers bloomed and withered through countless cycles, and even the moon had its phases of waxing and waning—how much more so the affairs of men?
Take, for example, the increasingly declining Shen family and the increasingly neglected Empress. Like an old woman struggling in her twilight years, clinging to life.
Princess Wanyu had fallen ill and died on her way to a political marriage, leaving Empress Shen utterly devastated. Though she still maintained her dignified and graceful demeanor, a closer look revealed a faint shadow of death in her eyes. That trace of lifelessness only flickered with a dim spark when she saw the Crown Prince—like the last embers in dying ashes, barely clinging to existence.
The Palace-Attired Beauty smiled as she gazed at the man in blue before her. "Grand Preceptor," she said, "obtaining a drop of the Empress’s Fingertip Blood shouldn’t be difficult for you, should it?"
Pei Lang studied the woman before him. She was as bewitching as a cat in the dark—shrewd and beautiful. No wonder the lofty, ever self-interested Emperor held her in the palm of his hand.
As a woman, she was undeniably alluring, capable of ensnaring a man’s heart. As a schemer, she was equally adept.
She advanced by retreating, never openly demanding titles or riches, yet people willingly offered them to her. Not only that, she even seized what belonged to others. She directed others to fight her battles, relying on the Emperor’s favor and her brothers’ support, quietly and steadily securing everything she desired.
She appeared delicate as a flower, yet harbored the heart of a viper. Hadn’t that young princess, barely in her teens, been driven to her end by this very woman?
By comparison, the one who ruled the Six Palaces still fell short in ruthlessness. Perhaps it was because she came from the Shen family—a lineage of loyal generals. No matter how much her temperament changed, a trace of mercy remained ingrained in her bones.
But it was precisely this mercy that destined her to always be one step behind in strategy.
Seeing him lost in thought, Mei Furen called again, "Grand Preceptor?"
Pei Lang snapped back to attention and, after a moment’s consideration, asked, "What does the Noble Consort need the Empress’s Fingertip Blood for?"
"That’s none of your concern," Mei Furen replied with a radiant smile. Even as a Noble Consort, she was still often addressed by her initial title—Mei Furen. The name itself evoked a sense of enchanting charm, so captivating that one forgot even the most beautiful flowers in the deep palace bore poisonous thorns.
"The current state of the Empress is plain for you to see," she said, pointing to a vine outside the window nestled between two trees. "When this vine first sprouted, it was caught between these two trees. It didn’t need to choose—it could thrive carelessly. But as it grew taller, the winds and rains grew fiercer, and it had to find something to cling to." She turned her gaze to Pei Lang. "One tree to the left, one to the right—yet it could only choose one to climb."
"These two trees occupy the same patch of earth, competing for the same soil. There’s only so much land—one of them will inevitably be cut down."
"The vine must choose wisely. If it clings to the tree destined to be felled, it will be uprooted along with it." Mei Furen smiled sweetly at Pei Lang. "Grand Preceptor, which tree do you think the vine should choose?"
Pei Lang stared silently at the two trees outside for a long moment before finally turning back. "This subject understands," he said.
Mei Furen smiled in satisfaction.After Pei Lang left, a palace maid emerged from behind to pour tea for her, whispering softly, "Your Highness, will the Grand National Tutor really obtain the Empress's Fingertip Blood? The Grand National Tutor and the Empress seem to have a rather good relationship."
In terms of their acquaintance, Pei Lang had known Shen Miao far longer than he had known Mei Furen.
"The Grand National Tutor is a wise man," Mei Furen replied, taking a sip of tea with a smile. "Otherwise, he wouldn’t have stood idly by during the princess's marriage alliance. Moreover... he harbors ulterior motives. A man as upright and rational as he, who tolerates not the slightest deviation, would naturally seek to eliminate all roots of trouble. I’m helping him—he should be grateful."
The maid nodded, though not entirely understanding, and added, "But is what the monk said true? Can the Empress’s fate really be transferred to Your Highness?"
"Whether it’s true or not, the position of the Six Palaces’ Mistress is mine to claim," Mei Furen said, a flash of ruthlessness in her eyes. "Fingertip Blood is nothing. Once her fortune is mine, and my son secures the throne of Ming Qi, I might even show mercy and burn some paper offerings for her and her two children."
The maid murmured in agreement, not daring to say more.
Shen Miao’s illness had worsened.
Fu Ming had just visited her, keeping her company for a while. Shen Miao wanted to inquire about recent affairs in the Shen Mansion, but as soon as she stepped out of the courtyard, she encountered Pei Lang.
Pei Lang greeted her respectfully, but Shen Miao remained cold.
His indifferent attitude during Wan Yu’s marriage alliance had chilled her heart. After all these years of friendship, and after Wan Yu had once called him "Teacher," his detachment was unforgivable. Her disdain for Fu Xiuyi had naturally extended to Pei Lang—she couldn’t bear to look at him any longer.
"I heard the Empress has fallen ill," Pei Lang said, presenting a small box. "This... might help with Your Majesty’s cough."
Shen Miao glanced at him and opened the box. Inside was a medicinal herb that looked vaguely familiar. As she picked it up, a sharp pain shot through her fingertip—she had been pricked by a thorn on the herb. A drop of blood welled up and trickled down.
Bailu gasped and rushed to bandage it, but Pei Lang stared fixedly at her fingertip, his voice almost wooden as he said, "This is Red Sleeve Herb. It’s effective for coughs."
Shen Miao laughed instead. She tossed the herb back into the box, closed it, and returned it to Pei Lang. "Unnecessary," she said coldly. "I once had a plant like this, but it withered in the end. And the one I raised didn’t have thorns." Her words carried a deeper meaning. "If you don’t wish to give a gift, then don’t. A gift like this only invites disgust. The Grand National Tutor’s offerings are truly beyond my acceptance. Please take it back." With that, she turned and walked away without another glance.
Pei Lang clenched the box tightly, his gaze complex as he watched Shen Miao’s retreating figure. Her health was deteriorating—she had to pause and rest after just a few steps.
But... Pei Lang looked down at the box. A man must make choices. Even if he had entered the court with clean hands and a pure heart, how many in the court remained untainted? The higher one climbed, the less control one had. He had no choice—there was no other way.The pros and cons were laid out clearly before him. Which side's trees would be felled, and which side's trees would dominate the entire land—the outcome was obvious at a glance.
He still had his own loved ones to protect, so personal friendships or hidden sentiments could all be set aside. Whatever Mei Furen wanted with the Fingertip Blood, it certainly wasn't for any good purpose. He was aiding and abetting evil, adding insult to injury.
He turned and walked in another direction.
Those who walk different paths cannot work together. There was nothing he could do. He could only... stand by and watch, only watch as this tree that had struggled to grow alongside him in the depths of the palace fell into the mud.
...
That great fire burned for three full days and nights.
Within the entire palace, only the Cold Palace was reduced to ashes. The sorrowful emotions, the blood-tearing accusations, the curses before death, the profound despair—all vanished with the flames. What remained were only the shocking remnants of the embers and the rumors left for people to spread.
Empress Shen of Ming Qi had perished.
After the Shen family was executed for treason, after the Crown Prince was deposed and took his own life, after Mei Furen was installed as the new Empress, and Fu Sheng was named the new Crown Prince—the lonely Cold Palace suddenly caught fire in the night, reducing the deposed Empress Shen to ashes.
It was truly a lamentable affair. The Emperor of Ming Qi, in his benevolence, had spared Empress Shen from sharing the fate of her disloyal family out of gratitude for their past marital bond. He had spared her life, merely banishing her to the Cold Palace. Yet, it seemed this woman was fated to have no fortune, perishing in the flames all the same.
History is written by the victors, and the imperial harem is no exception.
With the change of an era, all traces of Empress Shen's existence were thoroughly erased. She left behind no possessions—everything had been consumed by the fire. The main branch of the Shen family was also no more, truly an ending of lost heirs and a fallen clan.
The new Crown Prince's mother, Empress Li, however, shed her former gentle and charming demeanor, becoming somewhat formidable. She single-mindedly supported her brothers, coaxing Fu Xiuyi into complete compliance, until the court subtly began to show signs of falling under her control.
It almost resembled the dominance of maternal relatives.
Some court officials faintly sensed something amiss and sought to discreetly warn the Emperor. Unfortunately, before they could act, they were either demoted or exiled for inexplicable reasons.
Pei Lang watched it all with cold eyes, though his heart was weary beyond measure.
In the short span of less than half a year after Shen Miao's death, Ming Qi had turned heaven and earth upside down. He had not been mistaken—Mei Furen and her brother were indeed formidable. It was hard to say whether the throne of Ming Qi might one day fall into Mei Furen's hands. His loyalty was to Fu Xiuyi, and he ought to have warned him. But after several fruitless attempts, he stopped reminding him altogether, even secretly feeling that Fu Xiuyi deserved it.
The human heart is most prone to change. A wise ruler can become a tyrant, and a loyal minister can grow disloyal.
Every night when Pei Lang slept, he would startle awake from dreams of a pair of eyes. Those eyes, clear and bright, held no tears, yet they weighed heavier on his heart than any weeping could.
They were Shen Miao's eyes.
Pei Lang had once believed he had done the right thing—he had followed the tide of the times, seeking advantage and avoiding harm. It was instinct, the best choice. But the longer time passed, the harder it became to deceive himself.
What tide of the times? He had never wanted Shen Miao to die like this.When did he begin to develop feelings for Shen Miao? Pei Lang himself didn’t know. He was her teacher at the Hall of Extensive Learning, watching as she—once a spoiled, ignorant girl—insisted on marrying Fu Xiuyi, entered Prince Ding’s Residence, studied things she disliked for Fu Xiuyi’s sake, became a Royal Consort, then the Empress, and finally a deposed empress.
She was somewhat foolish, not particularly clever, and slow to learn, yet possessed a terrifying stubbornness. In the imperial harem, she was also unnecessarily kind-hearted. Her willingness to sacrifice everything for one person sometimes made Pei Lang laugh at her, and at other times, he envied Fu Xiuyi.
Later, he found himself paying more attention to her without realizing it. Even he didn’t notice that when it came to Shen Miao’s questions, he taught her with extra patience.
But Pei Lang was a smart man, and smart men did not allow themselves to make mistakes.
So when he became aware of his increasingly strange thoughts, he resolved to stop this mistake. That was why he proposed sending Shen Miao to the Qin State as a hostage. Yet five years later, when she returned, his feelings remained unchanged.
He watched coldly as Shen Miao fought Mei Furen in the harem until she was battered and bruised, as the light in her eyes dimmed, as her face grew haggard.
Finally, when Fu Xiuyi asked him how to deal with the descendants of the Shen family, he answered without hesitation:
"Uproot them all."
Uproot the weeds in his heart, and sever the roots in his heart.
But he never expected that Fu Xiuyi’s "uprooting" would include even Fu Ming. Even a vicious tiger would not devour its own cubs, yet Fu Xiuyi could bring himself to kill his own flesh and blood. Wan Yu’s death could still be passed off as an accident on the road, but Fu Ming’s could only have been by Fu Xiuyi’s own order.
Pei Lang remembered the look in Shen Miao’s eyes when she learned of Fu Ming’s death—those clear, black-and-white eyes wide open, tearless, yet so wretched it was unbearable to look at.
The fire burned for three days and three nights, but with it, Pei Lang’s regret slowly grew.
He went to the abbot of Putuo Temple and asked how to rid himself of his karmic burden.
The abbot, an old monk, shook his head at him. "The illness of the heart requires medicine of the heart."
Was there such a thing as a medicine for regret?
Pei Lang begged the monk for guidance. The monk said, "The reason you dream of the departed so often is because you owe her a debt. She lingers in your dreams because her resentment remains unresolved. Unable to move on, she finds no release."
Pei Lang, alarmed, asked if there was a solution.
The monk countered, "If you could right the wrongs of the past and beg for a chance to start anew—even if it required your life—would you be willing?"
Pei Lang said, "I would."
The monk replied, "Then return, benefactor."
"Why return?" Pei Lang was puzzled.
"You are willing to give your life, but that opportunity must be waited for."
"What opportunity... are you referring to?" Pei Lang asked.
"The one you owe still has unfinished wishes. When those wishes are fulfilled, and you offer your life, perhaps there will be a chance." The monk chanted "Amitabha" and added, "I can say no more."
Pei Lang thanked the monk and returned to the palace.
What was Shen Miao’s unfinished wish?
Her life had been one of misery and loneliness—her children dead, her family destroyed. What she likely wished to see was her enemies in hell and the Shen family restored to its former glory.A chance to start over, but you must wait. Will you wait?
Wait. Pei Lang made his decision.
This life was so long, long enough that he was willing to use his very life to correct a single mistake.
...
Winter passed, spring came, geese flew and returned.
When a dynasty nears its end, the stench of decay lingers over it.
Ming Qi was no longer the Ming Qi of old. Heavy taxes, forced labor, the people suffering under corrupt officials colluding for personal gain, a chaotic court, and a foolish emperor.
Yet the crown prince busied himself all day forming cliques for selfish gains, eager to ascend the throne as the new emperor.
He had gathered military power under his control, but lacked capable generals to command it. Ming Qi was a piece of fat meat, and everyone wanted a bite.
From afar, Great Coolness attacked and annexed Qin State, finally launching an offensive against Ming Qi. The victory came with terrifying ease, like a crumbling ruin, all the way to the gates of Fixed Capital.
Encamped outside the city, the people within Fixed Capital trembled in fear, every household's doors tightly shut, the air thick with the scent of a doomed nation.
Inside the grand tent, a man sat polishing his sword.
"Ming Qi's fate has reached its end," a young man in white robes walked in, fanning himself, his tone betraying no emotion. "I heard the palace is being purged tonight."
Those to be purged—the women of the palace, the concubines, the maids, even the royal princesses—would all be cleared. Rather than fall into enemy hands and suffer humiliation, it was better to die cleanly, preserving their honor.
Was it truly about preserving honor? How many among them actually wished to die?
The sword-polishing paused as the man lifted his head, revealing a breathtakingly handsome face. His gentle peach-blossom eyes were filled with nothing but coldness. "Oh? Has Empress Shen's body been found yet?"
Ji Yushu pushed aside the tent flap and entered just in time to hear this. "I inquired. No. A fire in the cold palace burned everything to ashes—not even a scrap of clothing remained."
Gao Yang sneered. "Fu Xiuyi was truly afraid of gossip. He handled it quite thoroughly."
"What a pity for the Shen family," Ji Yushu sighed. "Had the Shen family been here, how could he have fallen to such a state?"
Xie Jingxing said indifferently, "He brought it upon himself." His gaze fell upon the red string in his hand.
The color had faded somewhat, yet it remained firmly tied. He had been to countless battlefields since then, but the string had never once come loose.
Remembering the woman's clear, spirited voice that night as she congratulated him, Xie Jingxing shook his head. That promise would remain unfulfilled. Who could have guessed that in just a few short years, Ming Qi's reign would collapse so swiftly? Even without Great Coolness, it wouldn't have lasted much longer.
He had indeed returned victorious, and had intended to repay her for that farewell cup of wine by granting her wish—a night of fireworks. But she was gone, and this lifetime offered no such opportunity.
"At dawn tomorrow," he said, "we attack the city."
...
Great Coolness's banners fluttered in the wind. The skies of June were ever-changing, dark clouds pressing down upon the city, a fierce gale howling as if a torrential downpour were imminent.
The palace was empty now, corpses strewn everywhere. There were the "self-hanged" women of the palace, and the servants beheaded by Great Coolness's military force.
Blood soaked the land, corpses piled in the millions.
Pei Lang sat in the tea hall, pouring himself a cup. He poured slowly, deliberately, as wisps of blue smoke curled from a corner of the table, releasing a fragrance like a beauty's whisper, intoxicating to the soul.
He glanced out the window.The day Shen Miao died, the weather was just like this—gloomy skies with a sudden downpour of heavy rain.
He had waited for so long, and finally, this day had arrived.
The army of Great Coolness had come, and the fate of Ming Qi was nearing its end. Fu Xiuyi and Mei Furen were about to meet their demise. Shen Miao’s wishes would likely be fulfilled.
The mistakes he had made would finally have a chance to be undone.
He poured the contents of the small vial into the wine jug on the other side, filling a cup for himself.
Your wish is about to be fulfilled. What a pity… that the one who fulfills it for you is not me.
On the city tower, the army pressed in, and the emperor and empress were bound with their hands tied behind their backs, fastened to the flagpole.
Everyone has selfish desires. To secure their own survival, they can cut off another’s path to life. This was something Mei Furen and Fu Xiuyi often did—and now, it was their turn to taste the bitterness of it.
The ministers of the Ming Qi palace had bound their own emperor and empress to curry favor and surrender to Great Coolness. They were willing to offer the heads of the imperial couple in exchange for mercy, begging for their own lives.
When the tree falls, the monkeys scatter; when the wall collapses, everyone pushes it down. No matter how favored Mei Furen had been, at this moment, she could command no one.
Oh, and there was also the new crown prince, Fu Sheng. His head had already been severed by Xie Changwu and Xie Changchao—the two most sycophantic followers at his side—and presented as a tribute to the general of Great Coolness.
Below the city tower, the man seated atop a tall horse lazily narrowed his eyes. The dark clouds had unknowingly dispersed, and golden sunlight gradually bathed the entire city.
His robes were magnificent, his armor stained with blood, yet he remained noble and untainted, exuding an innate aura of authority. He stood in stark contrast to the emperor bound on the tower, helpless as a fish on a chopping block.
"Xie Jingxing," Fu Xiuyi gritted his teeth.
The heir apparent of Marquis Lin'an Manor, Xie Ding’s son, the brother of Xie Changwu and Xie Changchao—who would have thought that the youth long believed to have died in battle, the one who had fallen with the decline of Marquis Lin'an Manor, would reappear before the world in such a manner after so many years?
He was the Yongle Emperor of Great Coolness’s younger brother, the esteemed and noble Prince Rui, and also the young marshal of Great Coolness, commanding the dreaded Ink Feather Army.
"Long time no see, little Fu," Xie Jingxing greeted him.
Everyone knew that the Yongle Emperor’s younger brother was the most illustrious figure, conquering the world for him, yet also the most upright and heroic. Such a legendary figure had once been the heir apparent of Marquis Lin'an Manor.
Mei Furen stared intently at the man.
She was terrified. No matter how confident she had been in her victory, when life and death hung in the balance, composure was lost. Yet she had always relied on men to obtain what she desired step by step. At this critical moment, all her tricks were useless. She blamed Fu Xiuyi for his incompetence—how could a once-prosperous dynasty collapse so easily? Then her gaze fell upon the breathtakingly handsome man below the city walls, his noble aura innate, and she couldn’t help but stare at him, her eyes brimming with charm.
Xie Jingxing frowned and asked Ji Yushu, "Shen Miao lost to this woman?"
Ji Yushu replied, "Indeed." Then added, "Looking at her, she’s just average in appearance. I really don’t know if the Ming Qi emperor’s eyes were crooked."
Their voices were not concealed, and the army of Great Coolness burst into laughter. Mei Furen flushed with humiliation, while Fu Xiuyi seethed with anger. He glared at Xie Jingxing and said coldly, "If you want to kill us, just do it. Why waste words?""Still pretending to be a hero at this point?" Ji Yushu scoffed. "Third Brother, the Emperor of Ming Qi is in such a hurry to die."
Xie Jingxing smiled lazily and said, "This prince originally had no intention of killing you—couldn't be bothered to do it myself. But I owe your little Empress a favor, and coincidentally, this ending is the one you prepared for me many years ago. So whether for public or private reasons, I must return it to you in kind."
He spread out his hand, and Gao Yang handed him the longbow, presenting a silver arrow. Xie Jingxing nocked the arrow, and with a sharp "whoosh"—
Mei Furen on the city tower was struck.
The arrow did not pierce her chest but narrowly missed her vitals, leaving blood gushing forth in a horrifying sight. Mei Furen writhed in pain, nearly fainting, while Fu Xiuyi's previously composed expression flickered with unease.
The most terrifying thing in the world is not death, but the wait for death.
Xie Jingxing smiled faintly and spread his hand again. Gao Yang handed him two more silver arrows.
He nocked both arrows on the longbow, then let out a whistle.
At once, the tens of thousands of Great Coolness soldiers drew their bows in unison, arrows aimed at the two figures atop the tower.
The wind howled through the banners on the high platform like the wails of vengeful spirits. As the last of the dark clouds dispersed, golden sunlight bathed the scorched earth.
The man in the purple robe stood beneath the city tower, his robes fluttering slightly in the wind, his smile icy yet carrying a mischievous youthfulness in his eyes. He gazed up at the two figures trembling with fear and laughed heartily.
"Apologies, little emperor. At the behest of a certain lady, I’ve come to take your wretched life."
"Loose!"
Tens of thousands of arrows surged toward the tower like savage beasts unleashed, blotting out the sky and earth. Not even a sliver of golden light could penetrate the onslaught as the arrows swallowed the two figures whole.
Nothing could be seen.
In the palace, the man in the blue robe had already collapsed over the table, as if asleep.
At his feet, a lantern tipped over, its candle falling. Within moments, the curtains caught fire, the flames spreading swiftly—engulfing Chonghua Palace, consuming the Golden Luan Hall, until the entire palace was wrapped in a sea of crimson.
"Ah, Third Brother, the palace is on fire!" Ji Yushu exclaimed, staring into the distance. "Should we send someone to put it out?"
"No need," Xie Jingxing stopped him.
"This Ming Qi palace is tainted. Burning it is a mercy." He raised an eyebrow. "Daytime fireworks—at least I didn’t break my promise."
"What does that mean?" Ji Yushu asked, confused.
Xie Jingxing looked up at the corner of the sky dyed red by the flames, his mind drifting to the figure drinking alone under the clear moonlight.
"This dynasty betrayed you, so I shall overthrow it for you," he murmured. "This must have been your wish."
Unnoticed, the red thread that had been tied securely around his wrist for years suddenly snapped, drifting into the embers below and turning to ash.
And no one heard the long sigh of a woman within those ashes.
So this was the calamity. So this was the fate.
What the eyes see may not be true. What the ears hear may not be true. Across two lifetimes, he stood atop the distant peak, smiling carelessly. Only by drawing near could one truly understand the man he was. Frivolous yet sincere, scheming yet loyal. He could rally an army for a cup of warm wine or ride to the tower for a stranger, declaring, "Apologies, little emperor. At the behest of a certain lady, I’ve come to take your wretched life." He lived with the heaviest burdens yet the freest spirit, the darkest depths yet the truest heart. From the depths of deceit, boundless sincerity arose. He scorned the world, watched coldly as others fought, and in the end, leisurely turned the tables, grasping that faint glimmer of light in his palm.
This was her question—her question that only he could answer.
"It's raining," Gao Yang closed his fan. "Summer weather is truly unpredictable."Xie Jingxing curled his lips into a smile. "Into the city."
"For what purpose?"
"To overthrow the imperial power."
...
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