The wind howled outside the window. Wang Rong finished writing a line, clenched his fist, and coughed lightly.
The old servant fetched a fox-fur cloak and draped it over Wang Rong's shoulders, gently urging, "Young Lord, rest a while. However urgent Wei Chengjun's memorial may be, you must not wear yourself down."
Wang Rong gave a faint, thin smile. He fed the half-written "Memorial Petitioning for the Appointment of the Military Governor of Hedong" into the flames and watched with his own eyes as a night's labor turned to ash. "I never intended to write it."
To be precise, he had never intended to write it for Wei Chengjun. He had spent the entire night revising and rewriting, and the draft of the resignation memorial was largely complete—but whether it would recommend Wei Chengjun or Li Zhaoji could wait a while longer.
The old servant did not understand. "What does the Young Lord mean…"
"Hedong is about to fall into chaos," Wang Rong said. "Wei Chengjun wants to kill his maternal uncle and seize control, and Li Zhaoji is no pushover either. A bitter battle in Bingzhou is unavoidable. Keep the household staff in line and mind no one else's business—we will take neither side. The Wang family has the privilege of imperial kinship. Unless Hedong intends full rebellion, they will not touch me. Once a victor emerges, whether it be Wei Chengjun or Li Zhaoji, both will need me to submit a memorial to the court requesting the imperial appointment from Chang'an."
The old servant grasped the logic and bowed. "The Young Lord is perceptive. The Grand Princess may rest easy in the afterlife knowing this."
Wang Rong smiled bitterly. Perceptive? Maneuvering between factions, exhausting every ounce of cunning—only to eke out survival in the cracks. What kind of true cleverness was that?
Urgent hoofbeats sounded from beyond the wall, and had been clamoring for quite some time. Wang Rong glanced at the wind and snow outside the window and asked, "The night is far too unsettled. What has happened now?"
The old servant sent a nimble page boy out to inquire. After a long while, the boy returned, dusted with snow. "Young Lord, the word outside is tight—nothing can be gleaned. All we know is that the Tiger-Wolf Battalion seems to be hunting someone."
"Hunting someone?" Wang Rong frowned. Who merited such a massive mobilization, even bringing out the Tiger-Wolf Battalion? If there was anything unusual of late… A figure surfaced in Wang Rong's mind, and his usually cold, weary eyes flew wide. "Could Wei Chengjun be searching for Princess Qixing?"
The old servant had only learned of Princess Qixing's existence today. That the lady who had married far away in Chang'an had left blood descendants in the world was cause for joy, of course. But… the old servant looked at the reluctance written across Wang Rong's features. No matter how important the young mistress was, she could not outweigh the Young Lord. Even were the Grand Princess alive, she would have chosen the same.
"Young Lord," the old servant advised, "what the Tiger-Wolf Battalion seeks may well be one of Li Jichen's confidants, or a spy within the army. Princess Qixing is a woman—how could she possibly slip through the layered defenses of the commissioner's compound and the Citadel to reach the inner city? Since the Young Lord has made his decision, close the gates and await the outcome. Do not invite trouble."
Wang Rong knew full well that the one who escaped was not necessarily Tang Jiayu, and that sending anyone out at this critical juncture would easily draw fire upon himself. But what if it truly was her?
Wang Rong's brow was tightly knit, a thin layer of cold mist shrouding his eyes. Just as he found himself torn, another page boy came running at speed, reporting urgently, "Young Lord! Shocking news from the city gates—Li Zhaoji has entered the city with the Raven Army!"
"What?" Even Wang Rong was taken aback. "He has been stationed at Daizhou for half a year. Two days ago he left with his personal guards to supervise the fighting at Yunzhou. Even if he heard of Li Jichen's death and turned back midway, the fastest he could arrive would be three days. Unless Li Zhaoji possesses the Arts of the Spectral Realm, there is no way he could reach here tonight!"
Everyone thought it was impossible, yet Li Zhaoji had somehow appeared beneath the Xuanhe Gate, setting a new record for forced marches.
Wei Chengjun was furious that his elite troops had failed to intercept and kill Li Zhaoji, furious that the scouts had not relayed the message in time, furious that the outer city guards had defected at the critical moment—but no matter how angry he was, at this moment he had to consider the worst-case scenario.
The five thousand Heavy Spearmen and two thousand crossbowmen of the outer city, and even the cavalry camp outside the city, had likely all turned to Li Zhaoji. The key positions in the Citadel were all held by his men. If he retreated to the Citadel with the Tiger-Wolf Battalion, perhaps he might still have a fighting chance.
But Wei Chengjun was unwilling to give up Tang Jiayu and The Lingyun Chart. The Lingyun Chart was a Treasure Map, said to be a retreat route left by the founding emperor of Great Qi for his descendants—should unworthy descendants or natural disasters befall them, they could use The Lingyun Chart to find the treasure, and its contents could help the Li descendants become rulers of the realm once more. What man would not be tempted by the founding emperor's private hoard?
As for Tang Jiayu, her identity as a princess still had some use. Moreover, Li Jichen had once let slip while drunk that the letter left by Consort Wang mentioned the secret of The Lingyun Chart, but only vaguely said that once Jiayu grew up, she would understand. Because of that single sentence, Li Jichen had raised Tang Jiayu for seventeen years. Although Tang Jiayu behaved like a thoroughgoing spoiled brat of a girl, hardly seeming like someone who knew how to decipher a treasure map—but what if?
Tang Jiayu and The Lingyun Chart were like key and lock—neither could be missing.
Wei Chengjun made up his mind and immediately assumed the demeanor of the gentle, attentive cousin he had once been, attempting to draw Tang Jiayu into his camp: "Jiayu, I was worried something might happen to you just now, so I spoke a bit harshly. Come over here quickly—have you forgotten how Li Jichen deceived you? The Li father and son are jackals of the same lair. Li Zhaoji advocated killing you from the very beginning, to eliminate all future trouble."
As Wei Chengjun spoke, he signaled to a trusted subordinate. The subordinate understood and silently slipped into the darkness.
Li Zhaoji heard Wei Chengjun coaxing Tang Jiayu and let out a scoff. Holding the reins with one hand, his phoenix eyes were narrow and sharp, his pupils pitch-black, his edge fully revealed, making others not dare meet his gaze. His eyes fell on Tang Jiayu, carrying no warmth, as he said carelessly: "So it's you. Leave The Lingyun Chart. The person—doesn't matter."
Tang Jiayu instinctively clutched the scroll tighter, feeling her heart turn cold. The He Shi Bi was fought over by various lords, and no one cared about the He Shi Bi's own wishes—and she, a human He Shi Bi, was even worse off. These two men did not even care whether she lived or died!
Whether Wei Chengjun or Li Zhaoji—neither was a choice she could make.
Tang Jiayu put on a frail and harmless appearance and looked toward the winner she had already bet on—Li Zhaoji—saying pitifully: "I am willing to hand over The Lingyun Chart. I only want to go home. I beg the Young Lord to grant me this."
Having said that, without waiting for a response from the other side, she took out a scroll from her sleeve and threw it with force into the center of the street, then turned and ran in another direction. Both Li Zhaoji and Wei Chengjun recognized the unique pattern on the scroll's wrapper. The two sides were on the verge of battle, and troops and horses stirred into motion.
Of course, Tang Jiayu could not possibly have truly handed over The Lingyun Chart. These warlords all wanted to obtain The Lingyun Chart, which showed that this scroll must have something extraordinary about it. While hiding in the mule cart, Tang Jiayu had used the faint light to open The Lingyun Chart and study it carefully, and had already quietly cut out the painting paper inside. What she threw out was only the brocade mounting of The Lingyun Chart.
She was betting that the two factions would be too busy fighting to have any time to unroll the scroll and inspect it. She didn't expect to slip away in the chaos—she only hoped to find a place to survive and hide the real blueprint. Later, when Li Zhaoji questioned her, she would insist she had never opened the Lingyun Chart, letting Wei Chengjun take the blame.
Tang Jiayu had calculated every step perfectly. The scroll wrapper she threw out indeed became the spark that ignited the conflict. Li Zhaoji's and Wei Chengjun's men clashed fiercely, and no one paid her any attention. But she had miscalculated just how shameless Wei Chengjun could be.
Some things are better destroyed than allowed to fall into enemy hands.
The battle-hardened Raven Army was indeed not easy to deal with. The Tiger-Wolf Battalion was being suppressed by the Raven Army, and it looked like the Lingyun Chart was about to fall into Li Zhaoji's hands. Seeing the tide turning against him, Wei Chengjun's malice surged. He gestured to his trusted subordinate hidden in the shadows.
Kill.
Tang Jiayu hurried toward cover, unaware of this. She ran while glancing back, afraid of becoming a ghost under a hail of stray arrows. On one accidental glance back, she saw Li Zhaoji nock an arrow, his lean arm drawing the bow into a full moon shape, and release it straight at her.
He wanted to kill her?
The realization sent a chill through Tang Jiayu's entire body. She instinctively dodged. The arrow grazed past her ear, and before she could even rejoice at escaping death, a sharp, icy pain struck her from behind.
The arrow struck her square in the back. Blood gushed forth. Tang Jiayu clutched her chest, struggling to breathe through the pain, too weak to turn and see who had shot her from behind. She collapsed, her strength gone. The Lingyun Chart slipped from her robes in the movement and was blown into the air by the wind.
The Lingyun Chart was stained red with her blood, mottled and splattered. Tang Jiayu still had the presence of mind to think, at least the arrow hadn't damaged it.
Tang Jiayu reached out, straining to grasp the Lingyun Chart. In her mind's eye, she seemed to see Chang'an—its streets laid out like stars on a board, its palaces towering and magnificent.
But she had never seen Chang'an. How could she conjure it in her final moments? What did Chang'an look like? And her parents—what kind of people were they?
Tang Jiayu expended every last ounce of strength and finally clutched the Lingyun Chart in her hand. But she no longer had the strength to open it and take a look.
Blood dripped in a steady line, drop by drop. Li Zhaoji bent his arm, wiped the traitor's blood from his blade, and sheathed it with a reverse motion. Wei Chengjun's eyes bulged as he stared at Li Zhaoji, gurgling sounds rattling in his throat, as if he refused to accept his defeat.
Li Zhaoji couldn't be bothered to give the traitor another glance. He guided Zhaoye toward the side of the street and said flatly, "Behead him and hang the head at the city gate for three days as a warning. As for the Wei family—men, women, young, old—spare no one."
The Raven Army acknowledged the order. No one asked whether Wei Chengjun's mother—the matriarch of the Wei family, who was also the eldest lady of the Li clan and Li Zhaoji's own aunt—should be treated differently. The Young Lord was not one for many words, and he especially despised being deceived or betrayed. The Wei family had done both. What more could they hope for?
Li Zhaoji held the reins with one hand. The white horse beneath him stepped with crisp iron hooves, each step leaving a bloody print, and slowly came to a stop before the woman.
In the ninth year of Shengping, on the seventh day of the eleventh month, Tang Jiayu's world of happiness collapsed in a single night. Her final impression of that day was the heavy snow falling endlessly beneath the boundless night sky, and the young man reining his horse to a stop before her, looking down from above with a cold, indifferent voice: "Are you dead?"
Tang Jiayu no longer had the strength to move even a finger. She closed her eyes, her heart filled with fury, resentment, and bewilderment.
Her father had a biological son, Aunt Jiang had a daughter, and Chun Xia Qiu Dong were loyal to their own masters. The two men who pleased her heart were, in fact, all acting on orders. They were all pretending to love her deeply.
What exactly was the secret of The Lingyun Chart? How did Li Jichen die, and why did he keep her confined? Did her true kin know of her plight?
Most importantly, why her?
She had no ambition to dominate the world, nor did she wish to seek any treasure. She only wanted to live a peaceful life with her family. Why was it her, of all people, who was chosen to endure all this?
There was too much she did not understand, and too much she could not accept. If she could do it all over again…
"Madam, wake up quickly."
A shower of golden light fell before her eyes, and Tang Jiayu suddenly jolted awake. She opened her eyes, her heart pounding violently, as though she were still immersed in the terror of an arrow piercing her heart.
Wait—an arrow piercing her heart? Tang Jiayu sat up abruptly and pressed her hand hard against her chest. Her heart was intact, and there were no scars on her skin. Tang Jiayu sat on the bed in a daze. Zhanqiu hung up the bed curtains, and Zhandong brought over warm water. Seeing that Tang Jiayu did not move, they gently urged, "Madam, we know you dislike rising early. But today is special, and we cannot afford to delay. Wake yourself up—it is time to dress and apply your makeup."
Tang Jiayu blinked slowly. "Zhanqiu? Zhandong?"
Zhanqiu and Zhandong exchanged a glance, unsure what had come over Tang Jiayu. Zhanqiu asked cautiously, "Madam, did you have a nightmare? Why do you look as though you do not recognize us?"
Zhenchun and Zhexia entered from outside, carrying the perfumed ceremonial robes. Hearing the voices from the inner chamber, Zhenchun cut in, "What is it? Did Madam have a bad dream? It is all your fault—Madam craves coolness, and you two do not properly advise her. If Madam falls ill and delays the coming-of-age banquet, I would like to see how you explain that to the lord!"
To see with one's own eyes people who had already died reappear before you, laughing and scolding, full of life—that feeling could only be described as horrifying. Tang Jiayu took a moment to collect herself, and the goosebumps on her body gradually subsided.
If she could be deceived for seventeen years by those around her working together, then what in this world was impossible? Perhaps Heaven had heard her heart's cry, and the ancestors of Great Qi had shown their divine favor, granting her a chance to start over. What was there to fear in such good fortune?
Since she could not change it, she would adapt. Tang Jiayu quickly accepted her situation—she had returned to the age of fifteen, and it sounded like this was the very day of her coming-of-age banquet. She was still living in a false world; her kin were all disguised as trusted confidants of traitorous officials, and everyone stood apart, watching her joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness, watching her heart flutter.
Just as people never doubt that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, Tang Jiayu had never doubted those around her. But after experiencing that massacre, when Tang Jiayu paid closer attention, she indeed discovered that the four maidservants Chun Xia Qiu Dong, who appeared to be in perfect harmony, were in fact not of one heart.
Zhenchun and Zhexia were clearly in league, secretly ostracizing Zhanqiu and Zhandong. Zhanqiu was taciturn, like a gourd with its mouth sawed shut, while Zhandong deliberately yielded, seeming not to care who was more favored—or rather, whose contributions were greater.
Tang Jiayu sneered inwardly. She had been deceived by them for so many years. Oh, no—there was more. Outside, there was also her good father, her good cousin, her good Aunt Jiang, who in the name of family had trampled her sincerity into the ground.
Anger swiftly restored Tang Jiayu's strength. Tang Jiayu had been pampered like a princess growing up, and now that she knew she truly was a princess, and that they were on a mission and did not dare offend her at all, what did Tang Jiayu have to fear?
Tang Jiayu's brows and eyes drooped slightly, her lashes half-veiling her pupils, and within her impatience was a natural air of noble disdain: "What is all the noise about? Did I say you could speak? Is it your place to lecture anyone?"
Zhenchun hastily swallowed her voice. She and Zhexia exchanged a glance, not knowing what had offended this little ancestor again, and could only bow and apologize: "Please forgive us, my lady. This servant was out of line."
Tang Jiayu ignored Zhenchun. She stepped down from the bed, raised her hand, proud and imperious as if it were only natural: "Dress me."