Ming Zhao is to be separated from her maternal uncle…
The fifth year of Taihe, winter.
Outside Luoyang, the official road leading south was so crowded it was about to burst. Carriage shafts collided, horses neighed in alarm, and the stream of people was like a turbid flood from a breached dike, sweeping along chests and valuables, and an unconcealable panic, as it surged southward.
The wind was rank, a mixture of the stench of blood drifting from the distant sky and the sour smell of the nearby crowd.
From time to time, valuable sandalwood chests would tumble from tilted oxcarts, spilling silks and satins across the ground. No one dared to turn back to retrieve them; they were simply trampled into the mud by countless frantic feet.
Yu Xuandu watched the old steward return empty-handed. He frowned. “Where is Ming Zhao?”
The old steward, leading a horse, hesitated, then recalled the rebuff he had just received and sighed deeply. “Young Master, Young Lady Zhao has gone north with Old Madam Zhao and the Zhao clansmen. This old servant could not persuade her.”
Yu Xuandu was greatly alarmed by the news. He shoved aside the attendants blocking his way, snatched the reins from the old steward’s hands, and stumbled as he mounted the horse.
“Young Master!” the guards behind him cried out in alarm, hastily mounting their own horses to give chase.
Hoofbeats shattered the mud of the official road, galloping north against the surging tide of carriages and people flowing south.
North, north.
The scenes along the way grew increasingly desolate: broken-down carriages, abandoned luggage, and even corpses lying by the roadside, ignored by all.
His heart sank bit by bit, while a scorching flame of anxiety burned in his chest.
Brother Zhen—his brother Zhen, as elegant as an orchid and as noble as a jade tree, with a mind as vast as hills and valleys—was now trapped in the northern lands, his fate unknown. If he couldn’t even protect Zhen’s only child, how could he ever face him again in the future?
He rode swiftly north. At a fork in the road that diverged from the main path, a track covered in ruts, he saw the procession.
There were far more people than he had expected. Men and women, old and young, mingled with a number of soldiers in incomplete armor, carrying weapons. They surrounded a few dilapidated carriages, proceeding in silence and slow deliberation toward the denser smoke and dust of the north.
Yu Xuandu spotted his niece at a glance.
She was climbing down from a felt-covered carriage and walking toward a small child curled up by the roadside, sobbing softly. She handed the child the hard biscuit in her hand.
That small figure, wrapped in an oversized, worn-out padded jacket, stood against the biting cold wind and the gray, hazy sky, looking so frail it seemed she might be blown away in the next moment.
“Ming Zhao!”
Yu Xuandu reined in his horse. The fine steed whinnied and reared, kicking up a cloud of dust.
He leaped from the saddle and rushed to her in a few strides, his urgency palpable.
Zhao Mingzhao looked up. Seeing her usually elegant uncle now travel-worn and dusty, his eyes filled with tears, she was slightly taken aback. “Uncle,” she called out.
That single word, “Uncle,” made Yu Xuandu’s heart ache.
A thousand tender feelings knotted within him. He knelt, placing his hands on the girl’s thin shoulders and compelling her to look at him.
“Ming Zhao, come back with me.”
Thank goodness he was in time. Thank goodness he had caught up. His voice trembled slightly. “Look around you! The Hu cavalry could arrive at any moment! The beacon fires are already burning at our brows! Going north? This is walking straight into death’s jaws!”
Ming Zhao looked at him quietly. Her clear eyes reflected Yu Xuandu’s anxious and pained face, but they held none of the fear he expected.
A child’s eyes were limpid, easily revealing the inexpressible emotions within.
“Uncle,” her voice still held the characteristic softness of a child, “Grandmother said Father is in the north.”
“I know!”
Yu Xuandu roared, then immediately realized his loss of composure. He tightened his fingers, then, afraid of hurting her, loosened his grip in dismay. “I know your father is in the north! To me, Brother Zhen is more than a brother! He is my confidant, my dearest friend, my Star of Destiny! I love him so. How could I not want to save him? How could I be willing to abandon him?”
His eyes reddened, and his voice was choked with an unconcealable sob. “The court is now moving south. This is not out of a fear of death, but a last resort to preserve the state’s fortune! You are an eight-year-old child, following the old, weak, sick, and disabled north. What can you do? Can you stop the iron hooves of the Hu people, or can you fly to your father’s side? This is suicide! Your father and brother’s fates are unknown. You are the only one left who is safe. How can you leave your uncle?”
He took her hand again. The small hand was icy cold. He was almost pleading. “Ming Zhao, listen to your uncle. Come south with me first and save yourself. Once the situation has stabilized a little, your uncle will risk his life to find news of your father and brother and try to rescue them. You are my niece. How can I watch you jump into a pit of fire?”
The cold wind whipped sand and grit against their faces, stinging their skin.
The surrounding Zhao clansmen and the remnant soldiers who had gathered with them watched this scene in silence. No one spoke.
The curtain of the felt-covered carriage where the Old Madam was remained lowered, with only a few suppressed coughs emerging from within.
Ming Zhao’s gaze shifted from her uncle’s anguished face, slowly sweeping over the silent crowd around them, their broken weapons, and the expressions on their faces—a mixture of numbness and hatred.
Finally, her eyes came to rest on the north, on that expanse where heaven and earth were a murky yellow, where the smoke of beacon fires was faintly visible.
She pulled her hand free from Yu Xuandu’s grasp.
She took a step back and, facing Yu Xuandu, gathered her robes and performed a curtsy. The gesture was childish, yet extremely solemn.
“For Uncle’s love and protection, Ming Zhao is endlessly grateful.”
She raised her eyes, her gaze as clear as water, her heart as firm as a rock. “Father once taught me to read the Book of Han, which says, ‘The Hu reed pipe sounds, the frontier horse whinnies, the warrior is somber and joyless.’ I was young then and did not understand its meaning. Today, seeing our mountains and rivers shattered, our people displaced, I finally understand the reason for that joylessness.”
She paused, her voice falling upon the desolate crossroads, into the ears of every person there.
“Father is in the north, but he is not just Ming Zhao’s father. He is a general, a minister entrusted with defending our land. With the Divine Land submerged in chaos, how can we pin all our hopes on southern boats? As for what Uncle said about preserving the state’s fortune, Ming Zhao is young and dares not comment. However, the daughter of Zhao Zhen would rather die in the land of her parents than live a ignoble life in a corner of temporary peace.”
She looked at Yu Xuandu’s suddenly pale face, her tone unsparing. “Uncle, please go back. Tell the esteemed lords heading south that there are still people in the northern lands, that not all have fled.”
Yu Xuandu stared at her in disbelief. “Ming Zhao wishes to be separated from her own flesh and blood, from her uncle?”
Zhao Mingzhao was unmoved, just as these people were unwilling to speak further with Yu Xuandu. “Ming Zhao would rather sink with the Divine Land than be a grass owl gazing north.”
“The Central Plains are divided north and south by the river waters. The court now wishes to move south, and to prevent the Hu people from pursuing, they have even cut off the escape route for the people of the north. Is this calamity not all born from the schemes of you esteemed lords?”
The last trace of color drained from Yu Xuandu’s face.
He looked as if he had been stabbed in the chest by her words, staggering back half a step. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
In those eyes, which always held the elegant cadence of pure conversation, there was now only shattered shock and the unbearable shame of having his pretense suddenly stripped away and exposed to the light of day.
The air around them seemed to freeze.
Even the wind seemed to halt at that moment.
The Zhao clansmen, who had been silent all along, and the remnant soldiers protecting them, all turned to look, their cold gazes fixed on Yu Xuandu. The silent questioning in their eyes spread, heavy and suffocating.
“Is this calamity not all born from the schemes of you esteemed lords?”
The voice was that of a child, yet it was like a red-hot branding iron, searing his ears, and even more so, his heart.
Yu Xuandu’s lips trembled. He wanted to refute her, to scold the child for her baseless talk, to explain the treacherous undercurrents of the court and how his hands were tied, to speak of the great righteousness of the southern migration of the gentry to preserve the court, a move of absolute necessity…
But all the words were stuck in his throat. Under the gaze of the girl’s overly clear eyes, they seemed so pale and feeble, even hypocritical.
He, Yu Xuandu, the prodigy of the younger generation of the Langya Yu clan, a famed master of pure conversation, a trusted courtier of the Son of Heaven.
When the proposal for the southern migration was hotly debated, he had cited classics and analyzed the pros and cons, forcefully arguing for the necessity of “temporarily seeking refuge in Jiangdong to plan for a future counter-offensive.”
His words had made the high officials rush to proclaim it a righteous cause. At that time, what he had in his mind was the great righteousness of the state and nation, the continuation of civilization, the best possible solution born of necessity.
But at this moment, standing in the biting wind, before these remnant people who were determined to sink with the Divine Land, standing on the land where the brother he claimed to love as his Star of Destiny had fought and bled, and perhaps was even buried, facing his brother’s eight-year-old daughter whose every word struck to kill…
That scheme, which he had once considered a well-judged and far-sighted assessment of the situation, suddenly became incredibly jarring, even filthy.
“Ming Zhao’s words are like a thunderclap, striking my very soul.” He took a deep breath, the air trembling as he inhaled. “Uncle has no reply. I am deeply ashamed.”
That really cut to the heart.
He wanted to bid farewell to the Old Madam, but a soldier stepped forward to block him. Yu Xuandu’s guards also tensed, their hands on their sword hilts.
Yu Xuandu raised a hand, ordering his men to stand down. The Old Madam did not wish to see him. He performed a deep bow where he stood.
Yu Xuandu took a few steps back, taking one last look at Zhao Mingzhao, who stood her ground, her expression impassive.
That small figure, between the boundless heavens and the desolate north wind, seemed to possess a peerless strength of character that left him somewhat stunned. He could not bear to look any longer.
Just like these northern lands, these mountains and rivers he had abandoned.
The boundless, bleak land was awash in the color of blood.
He said no more and swung himself onto his horse.
He turned his horse’s head to face south, where the torrent of fugitives fled, where the illusory dream of temporary peace lay, and where his court and his clan sought refuge.
“Let’s go,” he said to his guards in a low, hoarse voice.
The sound of hoofbeats rose again. Zhao Mingzhao watched her uncle’s figure merge into the dust-choked official road to the south, until he could be seen no more.
She lowered her head and looked at her own empty hands. To everyone else, it seemed she had rejected the path to life out of a fit of pique. But only she knew the truth.
There was no path to life for Zhao Mingzhao in this world.
To her, the south was a known, certain death.