At this hour, the great camp of Xijing lay shrouded in darkness. Apart from the night sentries, the soldiers had long since retired to their dreams.
Jiang Hanyuan passed through rows upon rows of tents, finally arriving at the main pavilion where her father resided. Light spilled faintly through the cracks of the tent door. She did not enter directly, but stopped outside and asked the guard to announce her.
“General, please come in,” the guard quickly returned, bowing respectfully.
Jiang Hanyuan stepped inside.
No one else was present—only her father, dressed in plain military garb, seated upright behind a desk lit by a single candle.
Grand General, Marquis Ding’an, Jiang Zuwang, though famed for his victories, was not the towering, broad-shouldered warrior people imagined. His features were refined, with sword-like brows and phoenix eyes. In his youth, he had been a strikingly handsome man. Now, however, time and hardship had etched themselves upon him. The flickering lamplight revealed the weariness and age that no dignity could conceal.
Years ago, he had been struck by a stray arrow that pierced his lungs, nearly costing him his life. Though he had suppressed the injury through sheer will, the wound often relapsed in recent years, worsened by the bitter frontier climate. The pain was severe, yet he endured it silently—few knew of his suffering.
Seeing his daughter enter, Jiang Zuwang immediately rose from behind the desk and walked toward her.
“Zizi, you’ve arrived? The journey must have tired you. If you are weary, rest first—we can speak tomorrow.” He called her by her childhood name, his stern brows softening, a smile breaking across his face.
“Great General, you summoned me urgently. What is the matter?” Jiang Hanyuan commanded troops stationed hundreds of li north at Qingmu Pass, near the border where clashes with the northern tribes were constant. Unless military affairs demanded it, she seldom met her father.
She saluted with the formal courtesy of a subordinate before a superior, then straightened and asked in a respectful tone.
Jiang Zuwang halted, paused, and slowly sat back down.
The tent fell silent. A draft slipped through the door, making the candle flame tremble.
At last, Jiang Zuwang spoke again, his smile gone. “Li He has already confessed his fault. But you—how could you be so reckless? Without waiting for reinforcements, you pursued them! How many men did you have? How many did they? Even if you had delayed, those women would not have died! You may have some experience, but to take on four times your number—I thought you were not one to act so rashly!”
His tone grew harsh.
“Yes, the women might not have died. But by the time Li He’s men arrived, they would already have suffered a fate worse than death.” Jiang Hanyuan replied calmly. Her father knew well the brutality of undisciplined tribal soldiers. His rebuke came not only from military judgment but from paternal fear. Her words struck him silent. After a moment, his expression softened, and he changed the subject.
“Hanyuan, if I recall correctly, you are twenty now?” His gaze moved from her dust-covered shoulders to the face that so resembled her mother’s.
“What does the Great General mean?” Jiang Hanyuan did not answer, only repeated her question.
Jiang Zuwang hesitated.
The court had sent an imperial envoy north—Prince Xian, Shu Yun, Minister of the Imperial Clan. After formal greetings, his very first inquiry had been about Jiang Zuwang’s daughter, General Changning, Jiang Hanyuan.
“Seven years ago, when His Highness the Regent Prince was still Prince Anle, he came here on behalf of the Emperor to reward the troops. You were present then. You should remember him?”
Jiang Hanyuan’s lashes trembled slightly. She fixed her father with a guarded stare but said nothing.
“This time, Prince Shu Yun came in person. Do you know his purpose?”
Still, she did not reply.
Jiang Zuwang clenched his teeth. “He came at the Regent Prince’s behest—to propose marriage. He wishes to make you his consort.”
The air seemed to freeze.
Jiang Zuwang looked at his daughter and gave a bitter smile. “I know this news is sudden. You were unprepared. Even I was caught off guard. But—”
He rose again, smiling as he approached his daughter, whose face had stiffened.
“But the Regent Prince is a man of unmatched talent, a dragon among men. His bearing and appearance are extraordinary—you have seen him yourself. And you, after all, are not a man. In childhood, it mattered little, but now you are grown. It is not fitting to spend your years in the barracks. It is time you found a worthy husband…”
“Father!” Jiang Hanyuan suddenly spoke.
“Do you truly believe Shu Shenhui is a worthy husband for me?”
“Do you truly believe someone like me is fit to marry?”
She asked twice in succession.
Jiang Zuwang froze. Meeting his daughter’s eyes—so like her mother’s—he was overcome with shame and unease. He could not bear her steady gaze and turned away.
The great tent fell into silence.
After a moment, it was she who spoke again, breaking the stillness, her voice now calm and even. “Enough. I know it is not easy for you. If you have agreed, then so be it.”
With that, she turned and left without lingering. She strode swiftly through the darkened camp, her pace quickening, faster and faster, until she passed through the gates. At the hitching post, she untied her horse and mounted in one fluid motion.
“General! What did the Grand General say to you? Hey—where are you going? Wait for me!” Yang Hu, who had refused to rest despite his injured arm, had been waiting stubbornly outside. Seeing her depart, he spurred his horse to follow.
Her mount was a chestnut-red stallion named Tianlong, a prized steed from the Western Regions, gifted long ago by her maternal grandfather. Once unleashed, no ordinary horse could hope to catch it.
Yang Hu had barely given chase when horse and rider vanished completely into the night.
Jiang Hanyuan galloped wildly, riding until she reached Tiejian Cliff more than ten li away. There, the road ended, and she finally reined in. She released her horse, climbed to the summit, and stood upon the cliff’s edge.
The cliffs of Xijing at Yanmen were formed of dark rock, looming like iron mountains. The slope she now stood upon was one such height, hence its name—Tiejian (Iron-Sword) Cliff.
Tonight, heavy clouds smothered the sky. No moon, no stars.
Facing the deep autumn wind of the frontier, she stood alone for a long time. Then suddenly, she kicked off her boots, embraced a stone, and leapt into the abyss. This was a place she had come to since childhood, leaping countless times into the spring-fed pool below. Now the water lay black and still, like a giant mouth opening from the earth. She plunged like a stone, sinking straight to the bottom. The world was utterly silent. Even her heart seemed to cease its beating. Eyes closed, she curled tightly upon herself at the pool’s floor, like a child in the womb, unmoving.
After a long while, she opened her eyes. Loosening her limbs, she pressed her bare toes against the nearby rock, and her body shot upward like a serpent.
With a splash, she broke the surface.
She brushed the water from her face, pulled on her boots again, and whistled sharply. Tianlong came at her call, and she mounted once more, riding off at full speed.
At dawn, Yang Hu and his men found the place. On the ground by the water’s edge, carved with the tip of a blade, were two words: “Do not seek.”
Meanwhile, Prince Shu Yun still remained in camp. Jiang Zuwang had summoned Fan Jing for counsel.
Fan Jing, kin from Jiang Hanyuan’s mother’s side, had come more than ten years ago. He regarded Jiang Hanyuan as his young mistress, loyal to her even beyond his duty to Jiang Zuwang. Naturally, nothing was hidden from him.
Only now did Fan Jing learn the true purpose of Shu Yun’s northern journey. His shock was immense. “The Grand General has agreed?”
The words escaped him before he realized his mistake. For the Regent Prince himself had sent Shu Yun—such a proposal could not be refused.
And upon reflection, though sudden, it was not strange.
The dynasty’s founding emperor had risen from the northern lords, establishing rule amid chaos decades ago. His successor, Emperor Shengwu, brilliant and ambitious, fought for over twenty years, finally unifying the realm. Yet during those long wars, the northern tribes seized vast lands.
Later, when Emperor Shengwu sought to reclaim them, his old wounds flared, halting the campaign. He died a few years later, leaving the throne to the Crown Prince—now remembered as Emperor Ming.
Emperor Ming, though mild and virtuous, faced disasters and rebellions. Exhausted, he too passed away last year, leaving the throne to his twelve-year-old son, now the Young Emperor of Great Wei. Too young to rule, he was entrusted to his uncle, Prince Qi, appointed Regent.
Fan Jing, though long stationed at the frontier, knew the court was delicate. Prince Qi, formerly Prince Anle, was favored by Emperor Shengwu and was even sent north to reward the troops in his youth. Fan Jing remembered his brilliance vividly. Yet as Regent, his authority was not universally accepted.
Now, with Jiang Zuwang’s renewed prominence as frontier commander, the Regent’s choice of his daughter as consort was clearly political.
Jiang Zuwang remained silent.
Fan Jing quickly bowed. “Forgive me, Grand General—I spoke rashly…” He faltered, unsure what else to say. “Still… the Regent Prince is talented. With the General… it would be a fine match…”
Even he knew his words rang hollow.
Jiang Zuwang waved a hand. “You have been closer to her than I. Where might she have gone?”
Fan Jing defended her at once. “The General has always been steady and capable. She will not come to harm. Perhaps she only wished to clear her mind. She had planned to go to Yunluo City—perhaps she has gone there.”
Jiang Zuwang frowned deeply. “I did not expect her reaction to be so strong. It was my oversight. Take some men and search Yunluo City at once.”
“Yes, sir!”
Fan Jing departed swiftly. Jiang Zuwang sat alone, lost in thought. Suddenly, a fit of coughing overtook him. Pain twisted his face as he clutched the desk for support, sinking back down, his spirit drained.
Half a month later, on the day of October Yihai, under clear autumn skies, the Imperial Protecting Temple in the western suburbs of the capital prepared for a grand occasion.
General Liu Xiang of the Imperial Guard had cleared the temple the day before, expelling all outsiders. At dawn, he led five hundred guards to secure the grounds. Not even a fly could slip past.
The reason for such vigilance: it was the birthday of Empress Dowager Lan, mother of the Young Emperor. Pious and frugal, she was a patron of the temple, which had painted a mural in her honor.
That day, the Empress Dowager arrived with the Young Emperor to unveil the mural. The Regent Prince and all the court officials accompanied them. Even within the temple, Liu Xiang dared not relax. After inspecting the arrangements once more, he finally felt assured. At the rear gate, he gave quick instructions to his men before turning back inside—when he noticed a lone figure approaching from the mountain path.
The person wore a blue robe and black boots, a wide-brimmed hat shading their face. From their build, they seemed young.
Liu Xiang signaled his guards to drive them away. But the stranger stopped at the roadside and spoke to them. When the guards returned, reporting that the person refused to leave, Liu Xiang strode forward angrily.
“General, that person says he knows you and asks you to come.”
Startled, Liu Xiang studied the figure again. Still, he could not place them. He frowned, stepping closer. “Who are you? Do you not know this road is forbidden today? Leave at once—”
The stranger raised their arm, lifting the brim of their hat just enough to reveal a youthful face, clear and bright-eyed.
“Uncle Liu—it’s me. Hanyuan.”
She smiled faintly as she spoke.