Inside the imperial prison, a woman sat upright. She was strikingly beautiful, dressed in elaborate crimson robes, though her hair was somewhat disheveled. Closer inspection revealed numerous scars across her body—clear marks of being whipped—but her bearing remained dignified and her expression calm, bearing no resemblance to a captive prisoner.
The Emperor stood before her, gazing at her for a long while without speaking.
His thoughts drifted back two years. When he had first met her, she had carried this same air of quiet pride, indifferent to all around her. Even now, confined in a dungeon, she was no different.
After a moment, the Emperor finally spoke in a slow, measured tone: “Zhen has spared your life—why then did you still seek to harm Jingxian?”
(Note: “Zhen” is the exclusive first-person pronoun used by emperors in ancient China to refer to themselves.)
The woman lifted her head to look at him, a mocking smile playing at her lips: “Your Majesty has already accused me—this chenqie has nothing left to say.”
(Note: “Chenqie” is a formal self-reference used by concubines or imperial consorts when addressing the Emperor.)
The Emperor fell silent abruptly, an inexplicable surge of anger rising within him. He fixed his eyes on her: “Do you so desperately wish to die?”
The dungeon was terrifyingly quiet, save for the sound of wax dripping from candles.
“It is not that I wish to die,” the woman said coldly. “But whether I am right or wrong, guilty or innocent—I was going to die regardless, was I not?”
Staring at her face, he was suddenly lost in a daze.
Two years ago, at the Spring Banquet, that fiery red figure had seared itself into his heart. Now, somehow, he could no longer hold onto it.
Suppressing his emotions, the Emperor asked again: “Truly—you have nothing to say to zhen?”
The woman gave a soft laugh, her beautiful peach-shaped eyes fixed on him: “Your Majesty, what exactly do you want me to say to you? You have already executed my father and elder brother, and exiled my mother—should I thank you for this?”
“Your Majesty would do better to just kill me outright. Would that not be simpler?” Her voice was as cold as ice. Seeing no response from him, she snatched a sword from a nearby guard and prepared to slash her own throat.
Witnessing this, the Emperor flicked a pebble with precise aim, striking her fingertips. The cold blade clattered to the ground with a sharp crack.
“Watch her closely!” the Emperor roared at the guards. “Do not let her die!”
Furious, he flung his sleeves and stormed away.
…
A few days later, a pair of cyan brocade shoes embroidered with cloud patterns stepped into the prison.
The newcomer was elegant and opulently dressed, not a speck of dust on her robes. She lowered her eyes to look at the seated woman, covering her mouth with a handkerchief as she laughed: “Well now—are you finding life in this dungeon to your liking?”
Without lifting her head, the woman glanced sideways and recognized the visitor as Yuan Jingxian, who had just been named Empress. Knowing she had come to gloat, she said coldly: “You planned all this, did you not?”
Yuan Jingxian took a step closer, lifting the woman’s chin with her fingertip to study her face carefully. She smiled: “Clever indeed. But since you are going to die soon anyway, there is no harm in telling you the truth.”
Pulling a small vial from her sleeve, Yuan Jingxian crouched down and whispered in the woman’s ear: “I came here to tell you—your mother, now exiled to the southwest, will not live much longer either… and neither will you.”
“Tell me—will you take this willingly, or… shall I force it upon you?” She waved the vial before the woman’s eyes, adding: “Once ingested, this poison will kill you within a quarter-hour. And this is by His Majesty’s decree.”
The woman closed her eyes and did not reply, though her delicate eyebrows furrowed slightly.
After a long pause, she spoke in a low, steady voice: “Yuan Jingxian—I will haunt you as a ghost even after I die!”
At this, Yuan Jingxian laughed: “Do you think I would fear that?”
She then ordered the two maids accompanying her forward—one to pin the woman’s hands, the other to pry open her mouth. Outmatched by three people, the woman was forced to swallow the poison, struggling frantically in a state of utter disarray.
Yuan Jingxian laughed aloud. She had never seen the once-highborn daughter of the State-Protecting General’s household in such a wretched state—and the sight filled her with deep satisfaction.
Time ticked by.
When the poison took effect, the woman was wracked with agony, her face growing increasingly pale. She coughed up a mouthful of vivid red blood, gasped deeply, and glared at her tormentor through gritted teeth: “Yuan Jingxian… you will meet a terrible end!”
Yuan Jingxian looked down at her, then instructed her maids: “Dispose of this properly—leave no trace behind.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
A quarter-hour later, the smell of blood filled the cell. The woman in magnificent robes lay on the ground, her skin drained of all color.
“What a pity,” Yuan Jingxian murmured. “She died never knowing the truth.”
Glancing one last time at the body on the floor, she turned and walked away with her head held high, her steps graceful and proud.
…
Dusk melted the city walls into shades of crimson and gold.
From deep within the wind and sand beyond the walls, a fine steed galloped forth, shattering the last rays of sunset.
The rider wore a dark black cloak that billowed like clouds hanging low in the sky. His horse’s hooves splashed through puddles on the imperial capital’s flagstone streets. As he dismounted, dark red liquid still dripped from his wounds—impossible to tell if it was the blood of enemy generals or from the reopened gash on his shoulder.
“My Lord.” An armored guard knelt on one knee before him.
“Burn the dungeon to the ground,” the rider said, his voice sharp and cold. It was not loud, lost partially in the rain, but each word was enunciated clearly and firmly.
“My Lord! You cannot—this is the imperial prison…” The guard spoke with trembling fear.
(Note: The “imperial prison” or “zhaoyu” refers to a special prison under direct imperial control, typically used for detaining high-ranking officials or political prisoners.)
“Burn it.”
“Y-yes, my Lord…” The guard shook like a leaf in the wind.
Autumn rain seeped through the prison roof, mixing with blood as it snaked across the blue bricks. Flames erupted through the dungeon in an instant.
The man in black plunged into the burning cells, slicing through the iron chains binding the woman’s wrists—black iron bit deep into his palm, drawing blood. He wrapped his cloak around the figure in his arms as flames raged behind him.
Waves of heat and thick smoke engulfed them, and glazed roof tiles cascaded down like waterfalls.
Kicking open the warped, burning prison door, he carried her out into the rain—her blood-red silk robes swirling like withered lotus petals in his arms.