General Changning— Chapter 17
The young Emperor suddenly turned, eyes flashing with fury, and strode heavily to stand before Shu Shenhui. “Third Uncle, the Qingzhou rebels are scattered like dead monkeys. Even if remnants remain, they cannot reach so far as Chang’an. This was no random act—it must be the sons of Prince Gao! Outwardly, they act honestly, but in secret, they strike at you! Tonight you were spared, but had anything happened, they would have rallied the leftover faction, stirred chaos, and who knows what might have followed!”
“They are courting death! Don’t delay—seize them all at once! Interrogate them thoroughly, and evidence will surely be found…”
He was extreme in temperament—grateful to the utmost, vengeful to the utmost. Just then, Liu Xiang appeared at the doorway, peering inside.
Shu Shenhui saw him and gestured for him to enter. Liu Xiang hurried in.
“What is it?”
Liu Xiang bowed to both. “Your Majesty, Your Highness—Prince Ling Shou has suddenly gone mad.”
The Emperor cried out, mouth agape as if to swallow an egg. “What? Mad?” His eyes bulged, his voice shrill.
Liu Xiang nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty. They say he has gone mad.”
Prince Gao had many women in his household but few heirs. Injured in youth, his body was damaged, leaving him only one grown son—Prince Ling Shou.
Shu Shenhui asked, “What happened?”
Liu Xiang explained: upon hearing of the Regent’s attempted assassination, Prince Ling Shou was struck dumb, distraught, and shut himself in his room. His family forced entry, only to find him hanging from the beam. They cut him down and revived him, but when he awoke, he babbled incoherently, seemingly insane.
The Emperor, stunned, then sneered: “I say he feigns madness, pretending to escape guilt!”
Liu Xiang bowed his head. “This servant dares not judge.”
The news was shocking, yet not without signs. Since Prince Gao’s sudden death, Prince Ling Shou had shut himself away, never leaving his house, living in constant fear. He had fallen ill last month, and the physicians were unable to cure him. Tonight’s events may have driven him truly mad—or else, as the Emperor suspected, he feigned it to escape blame.
“Third Uncle! He must be pretending! And his son too—so arrogant he even blocked tribute meant for the palace! Tonight’s attack must be tied to them!”
The Emperor turned to Liu Xiang. “Go! Arrest the father and son at once! Let’s see how long they can feign madness!”
Liu Xiang obeyed, but glanced toward the Regent.
Shu Shenhui said calmly, “Your Majesty, no need to rush. If they are guilty, they cannot escape. Since he is said to be unwell, let the imperial physicians examine him first. Then we can decide.”
The Emperor, reluctant, finally agreed. “Very well. Let’s see how long he can keep up the act!”
Liu Xiang was about to leave when Shu Shenhui called him back. “Send word to Lan Rong. Have him bring the physicians, saying it is His Majesty’s concern. Let them see for themselves.”
Lan Rong, brother of Empress Dowager Lan and maternal uncle to the Emperor, had recently been appointed head of the Palace Guard. Alongside Chen Lun, he was considered the Regent’s right hand.
As Prince Ling Shou was the Emperor’s uncle, Lan Rong was the perfect choice to investigate.
The Emperor brightened. “Yes! Third Uncle, you are thoughtful. My uncle will not let him deceive us!”
The Regent smiled faintly, dismissed Liu Xiang, then turned to the Emperor. “Your Majesty, it grows late. Allow me to escort you back to the palace. If the Empress Dowager learns you are out, she will worry.”
Earlier, Shu Jian had been consumed by anger and urgency, determined to seize the Gao family at once. But now his mood had shifted. He shook his head. “No matter. Mother always tells me to heed you, to stay close. Tonight I came to see you after such danger—she will praise me, not scold me.”
As he spoke, his eyes drifted toward the bridal chamber. “Third Uncle, since I am here, would it not be rude to leave without greeting Aunt? You said yourself—how I treat you, I should treat her. Let me call her once, then I’ll return to the palace!”
Though he could see her tomorrow, his curiosity was too great. She was near, and he could not leave without seeing her.
Shu Shenhui, troubled, summoned Zhang Bao and gave instructions. Zhang Bao hurried off toward the bridal chamber.
The Regent’s old quarters lay nearby, in Jian Yue Pavilion behind Zhaoge Hall. He had lived there for years. Zhang Bao had assumed the bridal chamber would be set there, but instead it had been moved east, to a grander courtyard called Fanzhi Garden.
The buildings there were finer and more lavish than those at Jian Yue Pavilion, though long unused. The distance was greater, separated by walls and a garden. To walk from one to the other took nearly the time of a cup of tea.
Zhang Bao, fearing the Emperor’s impatience, sprinted at full speed toward Fanzhi Garden.
Inside, Jiang Hangyuan had not rested. She had removed her bridal crown and stood at the window, gazing out.
The courtyard was vast. Tonight, lanterns hung everywhere, red light glowing on winter branches. Snow upon the boughs looked like clusters of red plum blossoms. Yet the space was too large, too empty. The lantern glow seemed neither festive nor lonely.
Suddenly, she glanced back toward the outer room. After waiting a moment longer, she passed through the heavy curtains, stepped out of the inner chamber, and opened the door. As expected, a young attendant stood there, hand raised as if to knock, but hesitating, breathless. She had already sensed the faint presence outside, so instead of waiting, she chose to open the door herself.
Zhang Bao had arrived moments earlier. He had lifted his hand to knock, then stopped, lifted it again, then stopped once more—debating how best to knock so that the new princess consort, waiting inside for the Regent to return to the bridal chamber, would not find him rude or presumptuous.
Just as he hesitated, the door opened. He looked up, startled to see the lady general herself opening it. Her gaze fell upon him, and his heart lurched. He quickly withdrew his hand, stepped back, and bowed deeply.
“Your Highness, His Lordship sent me. His Majesty wishes to see you. The Regent asked me to inquire whether you would be willing. If so, His Lordship will bring His Majesty here. Not far away, there is a proper hall—may I trouble Your Highness to move there?”
Zhang Bao delivered the message, head lowered, eyes averted, filled with awe toward the lady general. It was not that her appearance was frightening, nor her bearing oppressive. On the contrary, when he first saw her tonight, he was surprised. Having heard countless rumors, he had imagined something entirely different. Yet she looked no different from an ordinary woman. Not only that—she was not the broad-browed, fierce-eyed figure he had pictured. Her brows and eyes were fine and delicate, lashes sweeping upward like butterfly wings.
Such features, on a woman of the inner chambers, would have been soft and alluring. But on the general, they carried no such impression. Standing still, her waist straight and taut, unsmiling, she seemed like a drawn blade—stern and resolute, like snow pressing upon pine, overwhelming all else. Nor was her gaze the sharp, killing stare he had imagined. Though she had lived by the sword, tonight her eyes were calm, without anger or joy—almost serene.
Zhang Bao guessed she was likely a woman of few words. Whether his judgment was right, time would tell. But though she commanded respect, she did not inspire fear. What made him so cautious was not only her presence but also the Regent’s attitude toward her.
Tonight, after surviving an assassination attempt, the Regent himself had calmly helped her down from the carriage. And now, though the Emperor wished to see her, the Regent intended to escort His Majesty across half the mansion to meet her here, rather than summon her to the hall. Such consideration showed how highly she was regarded.
Zhang Bao finished his message and waited.
She was silent for a moment, then said simply: “I will go there instead.”
At Zhaoge Hall, the young Emperor Shu Jian stood at the doorway, peering impatiently. “Third Uncle, why not use Jian Yue Pavilion for your bridal chamber? It’s closer, and you’ve lived there for years. Isn’t it inconvenient to move?”
“Since it is for the new bride, the finest place must be chosen. That hall is most fitting,” Shu Shenhui replied lightly, unwilling to discuss further.
The Emperor nodded absently. “All right then. Can we go?”
Shu Shenhui judged that Zhang Bao had delivered the message and that Jiang Hangyuan was prepared. He rose, leading his nephew out. “Jian’er, she traveled long from Yanmen, married without rest, burdened by ceremony. When you arrived earlier, she had already retired. Since you insist on seeing her, I have asked her to wait in Fanzhi Garden. It is not disrespect, but—”
“I know, I know—she’s tired! No need for her to come here. Let’s go quickly!” The Emperor was impatient, urging him on.
Shu Shenhui was about to step out when he halted.
Jiang Hanyuan herself had come, appearing at the steps outside.
He quickly went forward, speaking softly: “Lady Jiang, His Majesty is eager to see you tonight before returning. Forgive the disturbance. You need not have come—I could have led him to you.”
“Your Highness is too kind. Since His Majesty is here, how could I refuse?” she answered simply.
“I, Jiang Hanyuan, have not yet paid respects to His Majesty. I beg forgiveness.” She bowed with the salute of a soldier.
The young Emperor stared at her, eyes wide, face openly astonished—so much so that it seemed improper. Had his tutor seen, he would have despaired at his lack of decorum.
Shu Shenhui coughed lightly, a reminder.
Shu Jian snapped back to his senses, hurriedly called out for her to rise, then turned to Shu Shenhui: “Third Uncle! You must tell the lady general—no, my Third Aunt—that from now on, when we are in private, she need not perform the formal rites of ruler and subject with me!”
Shu Shenhui only glanced at Jiang Hanyuan, but did not echo his nephew’s words.
Jiang Hanyuan did not pause. She completed the ritual, then straightened and said calmly: “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
The young Emperor had nothing more to say. He stood awkwardly for a moment, then suddenly slapped his forehead, as if waking from a dream:
“It’s late! I should return to the palace. If Mother finds out, she’ll worry.”
Shu Shenhui moved to escort him, and Jiang Hanyuan naturally accompanied them. As they descended the steps of Zhaoge Hall, the Emperor said: “Third Aunt, you need not see me off. I’ll go myself.”
Shu Shenhui turned to Jiang Hanyuan: “Stay here. I will see His Majesty out.”
She stopped at the foot of the stairs.
Shu Shenhui continued forward with Liu Xiang and the attendants waiting outside.
At first, the Emperor walked in silence, head down. When they reached the corner of the corridor leading to the front gate, he suddenly glanced back, quickly tugged at Shu Shenhui’s sleeve, and whispered: “Third Uncle, are you sure? Could Jiang Zuwang have another daughter? Is she truly General Changning? She doesn’t look the part! That woman—can she really fight in battle, command soldiers, keep them in line?”
Shu Shenhui’s mind conjured the image of her as she had appeared moments before: still in her wedding robes, but without the bridal crown, her black hair simply bound into a neat knot, secured with a plain phoenix hairpin. Even without powder or paint, her face carried enough presence to match the grandeur of her attire.
No wonder the young Emperor was so astonished—the famed lady general was far different from what he had imagined. In truth, even Shu Shenhui himself had been surprised when he first saw her.
“Third Uncle, say something!” the Emperor pressed.
Shu Shenhui instinctively turned his head.
She was still standing far behind, at the steps of Zhaoge Hall, her figure quiet beneath the glow of lanterns and snow. She seemed almost unreal, like a silhouette against the vast night sky.
“…Or perhaps,” the Emperor muttered suspiciously, “Jiang Zuwang claimed another’s achievements in his daughter’s name, just to win fame—so she was called General Changning?”
Shu Shenhui recalled their first meeting that evening, when the carriage door opened, and her eyes lifted suddenly to meet his. Those eyes were beautiful—but what struck him most was the depth within them. They were the eyes of one who had seen life and death, calm and unshaken. And her hand—he had held it briefly. Small enough to fit entirely within his palm, yet he had felt the hardened calluses of a soldier’s grip.
“Do not speak nonsense.” He withdrew his gaze from her, turned back, and silenced his nephew’s wild speculation.