When the setting sun sank below the horizon, darkness fell. The darkness was the sky’s affair; the rise and fall of a city belonged to men. Even after night descended, Luoyang’s walls remained as straight and imposing as ever, while the city itself was still ablaze with lanterns, drunk on pleasure and luxury. This was Luoyang—a city with more people than stars in the heavens, and hearts deeper than water.
Street hawkers pushed wooden carts through the alleys, calling out their wares. Beyond the winding lanes lay broad avenues, where carriages and horses jostled past one another. People of every sort savored the last scraps of daylight before night fully set in. A bare-chested, dark-faced strongman swallowed a mouthful of liquor and spat it onto the fake sword in his hand. With a puff, it burst instantly into roaring flames. A nobleman in a hooded cloak raised a hand and ordered his servant to toss the performer a reward. Some were drawn to the strongman; others to the wealthy lord. In no time, spectators had gathered in a dense throng, shoulder to shoulder.
The bridge was packed from top to bottom. A little girl with her hair tied into two flower-bud buns was accidentally knocked into the river. Luckily, she could swim, and she soon surfaced. Men, women, old and young alike crowded around to watch the commotion, making the bridgehead even more congested. The child clung to the edge, unable to find anywhere to plant her feet, and after a long struggle finally hauled herself onto the bank. She wrung the water from her sleeves, then took off running toward the Yang residence. Alive and lively, the scare was over, and with no further spectacle to enjoy, the crowd dispersed.
The men, dressed in narrow-sleeved jackets, shut their doors for the night. The women continued making clay figurines late into the night, waiting for the sun to rise once more.
This had been a flourishing imperial capital for centuries. Its rules had once been spoken by Han Chinese princes steeped in Confucian teachings. Human sacrifice had seemed especially abhorrent in an age that extolled benevolence and righteousness. Once a man of great prestige had set the example, the living buried in the tombs of princes and nobles were eventually replaced by little figures fashioned from clay.
Now, horsemen had thrown open Luoyang’s gates, and the people upon the throne had fallen in love with the culture of the Central Plains…
Trace it back to its roots, and they had taken up the old custom of burying the living all over again.
And that was not even the worst offense against human decency. Even beasts knew to repay the kindness of their mothers. Yet for decades, people had forced their own birth mothers to die, then forced their sons to kill their mothers in turn. Father succeeded father, and little by little there emerged an ancestral law: the son was honored, and the mother died…
Once a man possessed power, he could decide who lived and who died and hold human life in contempt. What splendid freedom. It was like the fire a craftsman breathed onto a sword: if the flames never touched your own flesh, you would never know how much they hurt. You could see the ruler standing mighty and magnificent, but never the single hot tear shed by the dead as they disappeared into a deep pit. And you forgot one thing—the fire can consume me, but it can consume you, too.
Small wonder the world had fallen so far.
With a sharp rap of the storyteller’s wooden clapper, the tale came to a halt.
Deep among the Hundred Flowers in eastern Luoyang, behind a dark-purple side gate, lay a secret gambling den, a place of wonders hidden from the world. Through the western side entrance was a tea room where travelers could rest. The storyteller was a man whose face had long since been disfigured, his lean body covered in black scars. Yet despite his appearance, he carried himself with an unmistakably refined air.
The tea drinkers below were still clamoring.
“Enough with these lofty principles that won’t fill our bellies! Tell us what happened to the little Empress Dowager! Is she all right? The Emperor loves her so much he’d sooner strip the skin from his own back to make her a cloak. Surely he couldn’t really bear to kill her?”
The storyteller shook out his sleeve.
“Now then, this Eighth Prince was a truly treacherous man. He plotted to usurp the throne, deliberately sowing discord, and accused our little Empress, Li Zhu, of committing adultery. Five years ago, he claimed, she had given birth to a little bastard. The child did not live long, and the little Empress, overcome with grief, set up a small effigy in the palace, burning incense before it every day and observing seven days of vegetarian fasting each month.
“The Emperor flew into a rage. He drew his sword and pointed it straight at the little Empress.
“‘Wah! Wah! You little whore! I’ve practically let you carve out my heart and eat it, and this is how you repay me? I have treated you so well, and you dare betray me!’
“He thrust his sword into her.
“The little Empress lowered her beautiful eyes and cried, ‘My life is over!’”
The oil lamp went out. Countless moths beat their wings against the flames.
Someone below cursed.
“Damn it! Why?! Such a good woman, and they treated her like that!”
The storyteller tapped the table.
“But when it comes to sheer depravity, the Eighth Prince takes the crown. He wounded his own brother with a treacherous arrow, sowed discord, and persecuted the loyal. That very night, he secretly trained his household troops, turning men and women, old and young, into soldiers, dragging entire families into it and forcing them to help murder his nephew! What do you say? Can he succeed?”
“That fellow runs from his own brother like a mouse from a cat, and he thinks he can pull this off? All tongue and no sense, a vicious mule that bites the herd. He takes advantage of his brother being away to bully a widow and her orphans. Calls himself a prince? He’s no better than those little bastards in my younger brother’s household. Succeed? He can go succeed his grandfather’s arse!”
The serving man took a broom and swept the floor, sending a cloud of dust into everyone’s faces. He stretched his arms and legs, stuck his nose in the air, and said, “Oh, for heaven’s sake! Every last one of you has got your arses glued down by grains of rice—you can’t even move! You planning to stay at the inn without paying?”
One spectator curled his lip and pushed open the door.
“Fine. The wind sure is strong today.”
With a loud crack, a slender willow tree was torn bodily from the ground.
Now that was a wind strong enough to kill a man.
The spectator tucked his hands into his sleeves and hurried back inside. Seeing the way the storm was brewing, he threw his head back and began wailing for the little Empress again.
“Oh, this weather! This miserable life! Our poor little Empress!”
The serving man rolled his eyes.
“What are you crying for? She isn’t your mother. Wait until your own mother dies, then go smash the mourning basin.”
“The Mother of the Realm, the Mother of the Realm! Isn’t she my mother, then?”
It was the summer of the nineteenth year of Jinghe, and a torrential storm was on its way.
The Murong tribes, once allies, had ridden across the northern desert on their great horses. The third emperor of the Tuoba clan, Wei Qing, had taken the field despite his illness and won a battle that had earned the wholehearted cheers of the people. It should have been a glorious return. Yet as Wei Qing neared Luoyang, he was ambushed and struck by an arrow. He had now spent more than a month recuperating, lingering on his sickbed.
The ancestors of the Northern Dynasty had followed the example of Emperor Wu of Han, who had established the precedent of having the mother of the heir killed, in homage to him. They upheld the custom of honoring the son while the mother died.
Empress Li Zhu was the Emperor’s only woman, and all three of his sons were hers. By rights, she should never have escaped her fate.
And yet, when her eldest son entered the Eastern Palace, Li Zhu emerged without so much as a scratch, having escaped entirely unscathed.
The Crown Prince had been raised from childhood by a wet nurse, and mother and son had barely even seen each other. Yet the Emperor could describe the fiction of motherly love and filial devotion to his ministers again and again without so much as blinking. With the Emperor shielding and protecting her, Li Zhu truly could have anything she wanted.
Nine out of ten bets are lost, but there is always that one win.
Once a person has tasted the sweetness of getting away with something, she will race headlong toward the southern wall rather than stop.
Li Zhu was already utterly fearless. She simply did not believe that, when the Emperor died, he would have the heart to order her to follow him into the grave.
Rumors outside claimed that her death was certain. Li Zhu merely knelt in the Buddhist hall, waved to her daughter, and said, “Idle alarmism, nothing more.”
When the palace servants announced that His Majesty had summoned her and ordered Her Highness to hurry there at once—or else the entire Yang clan would be put to death—she insisted on burning the final three sticks of incense first, then sent her daughter in her place.
Firmly convinced that she was an exception, Empress Li Zhu paid little attention to the severity of his injuries. When it came to caring for him, she was forever cutting corners and shirking her duties.
At nightfall, dragonflies whirled low over the ground. In the darkened city, only the ninefold palace towers remained bright and beautiful. A small bird flying low was knocked over by the rain pouring down upon it. Beating its soaked, heavy wings, it fluttered to the windowsill beside Wei Qing.
As he turned over, his long, elegant eyes settled on the drenched little bird, and for one fleeting instant, an elusive tenderness surfaced in them.
The north wind blew down a pale-pink handkerchief embroidered with delicate orchids. It drifted through the gaudy painted screen, trembled in the night, and landed in Wei Qing’s hand.
He carefully put it away.
Just then, the palace servants filed in. One carried a food tray; another tested the dishes for poison with a silver needle. They sincerely urged him to eat.
Wei Qing lazily lifted his eyelids. His gaze turned bleak, and his expression changed completely. Coughing, he began shouting that he wanted the Empress to come personally and care for him.
When the servants continued making excuses, he grew even angrier, cursing them and declaring that if he did not see Li Zhu, he would have every member of the Yang clan put to death.
At that moment, a brightly dressed young woman entered and gently tried to soothe him.
“Father, you haven’t eaten in two days. Mother can’t get away, so I’ll wait on you instead.”
“Lanxiang, where is your mother?”
“Mother is in the Buddhist hall, burning incense and praying for Your Majesty to recover soon.”
Wei Qing gritted his teeth.
“Liar. She’s praying to that wretched little idol of hers again, isn’t she?”
The palace chamber fell silent and empty.
Neither of them spoke.
Rain thundered against the ancient city. From the outer hall came the voices of the palace attendants, all greeting the Empress as she arrived.
Princess Lanxiang hurried to her feet and went to the door, where she seized Li Zhu and pulled her outside. Covering her mouth, she lowered her voice.
“Did you burn it all? That is a grave offense—a capital one! If Father finds out you used witchcraft to curse him, he’ll have you killed!”
“That was all done a year ago…” Li Zhu muttered.
“Just burn it anyway. Are you sure you got rid of everything?”
Li Zhu nodded.
Lanxiang slipped away quietly.
Li Zhu wrung the water from her sleeves and entered the inner chamber. She was dressed with meticulous care, and even drenched from head to toe she remained strikingly radiant. A golden tree-shaped hairpin crowned her head, its fourteen peach-leaf ornaments scattering shimmering light. She wore a thin yet elaborate guishu robe, its hem falling in layer upon layer. Countless silk ribbons woven by silkworms hung around her knee-guard apron, swaying in the wind among gold thread and kingfisher feathers.
The woman’s fragrance was sweet and lovely. A delicate scent entered Wei Qing’s world before she did.
His eyes softened at once.
“How did you get yourself soaked?”
Li Zhu propped her chin in her hand and sat down beside the bed with a bright, smiling face. Through her fine, tightly clenched teeth came a grumble.
“More than getting soaked. Your Majesty can’t be without someone for even a moment. I came straight here without even eating.”
Wei Qing did not like hearing that.
He closed his eyes impatiently and came straight to the point.
“Some people are always quick to promise that they’ll dine at the same table with me, sleep beside me, and then forget the moment they turn around. Yet you never thought to ask whether I was hungry. I haven’t eaten for two days.”
“How can you blame me for that? Do you really stop eating just because no one is there to keep you company? Isn’t that just Your Majesty making trouble for yourself?”
The complaint came out in one clean rush.
Then she realized what she had just done.
This was the Emperor, after all. He was someone she was supposed to flatter and placate. Yet here she was, treating him like some turtle grandson she could boss around.
Li Zhu hurriedly slapped a hand over her mouth.
Too late. She had finally realized she ought to mend the fence, but unfortunately she had no idea how. She flushed crimson, racking her brains for something pleasant to say, but nothing came.
Wei Qing cast her a sidelong glance and sighed.
“Let’s not speak of this anymore. It is enough that you are willing to change.”
“I shall reform myself at once.”
Li Zhu shot upright and raised four fingers toward the heavens, swearing solemnly.
At last, the tension eased from the corners of Wei Qing’s eyes and brows.
Then he watched as the starving Li Zhu picked up his meal and began to eat.
She ate with relish.
She ate ravenously.
She ate until not a scrap remained.
Wei Qing stared in stunned silence.
Then he thought about it. She had come without eating either…
Surely she would have someone send him another dinner later.
Instead, she sat down on a jade prayer mat and examined the nails she had stained with balsam-flower juice, left and right. Then, as though words cost her nothing, she poured out an entire basketful of auspicious assurances meant to comfort him. She said he had survived a great calamity. She said he would surely live to a hundred. As she spoke, a guilty look crept across her face, and she quietly shut the window, afraid that the God of Thunder might strike her down for lying.
It was getting late. She stole a glance at the water clock, then found an excuse to leave.
Once again, she cast aside the promise she had made him.
She returned to her own chamber and went to bed, never even bothering to find out whether he had eaten dinner.
The night was very long for him.
For Li Zhu, however, there was no sick man to tend. She lay alone in her fragrant, soft bed and slept gloriously well. Only after stretching herself lazily did she finally drag herself out of bed to dress and make up.
In the afternoon, Lanxiang sent word that Wei Qing’s condition had taken a turn for the worse and that she should hurry over to see him.
Li Zhu regretted everything.
She practically ran there with her skirts gathered in her hands, crossing three towering palace halls and splashing mud all over her feet. She dropped to her knees beside his bed and burst into tears.
“Your Majesty, you can’t die at a time like this! You have no idea—this past year, while you were away, that pair of good-for-nothing adulterers nearly had their eyes on the throne. And my two treacherous brothers, Yang Si and Yang Liu, have been siding with the Eighth Prince and his wife all along. At the very least, you have to deal with those people first.”
A grew suspicious. Quickly, she began illustrating everything with her hands and feet.’s how the Eighth Prince behaves whenever he comes to fall. The white, luminous moon hung amid the slanting rain, casting the Tuoba people arrived, they had torn it down with their bare arms. Decades later, after moving the capital to Plains, setting fire to countless documents. Only afterward had they begun learning the culture cold smile curved his lips.
“While I was away, those people bullied the four of you?”
Li Zhu nodded so vigorously it was almost comical.
Seeing that he did not explode in fury as he usually did, she grew suspicious. Quickly, she began illustrating everything with her hands and feet. She planted her hands on her hips, rose, and swaggered a few steps, embellishing the tale as she went.
“That’s how the Eighth Prince behaves whenever he comes into the palace.”
Then Li Zhu pretended to be frail, collapsed sideways onto the floor, and made a slitting motion across her throat.
“He wanted to do this to me.”
“And the Eighth Prince’s wife?”
Li Zhu scrambled to her feet, then came forward with mincing steps. She rolled her eyes and pointed a dainty finger.
“Her? That Yang Li Zhu? A pig of a woman, a shrew! A shrew like that can be Empress? What a laughingstock!”
She slipped her arm through Wei Qing’s hand.
“My lord, my lord, how could she ever compare with me? I’m the one who ought to be Empress! My lord, you’re the one who ought to be Emperor!”
He wearily pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I understand.”
“Your Majesty, you have to hold on. You—you need to go deal with those people. Right now. Go now.”
She shook his arm.
“Li Zhu, my whole body hurts. Do you not care about me at all?”
She mumbled, “I—I’m only worried that Your Majesty’s empire will fall into someone else’s hands. Isn’t that caring about you?”
He sighed.
“Then go fetch me some paper and a brush. There aren’t any here. Bring the silk used for imperial edicts.”
Li Zhu did exactly as she was told.
She climbed into a phoenix-and-dragon embroidered palanquin and headed for the Imperial Library.
The sky was thick with clouds. Suddenly, a light rain began to fall. The white, luminous moon hung amid the slanting rain, casting the Imperial Way in such vast clarity.
There had once been a Buddhist hall here. After the Tuoba people arrived, they had torn it down with their bare arms. Decades later, after moving the capital to Luoyang, they built another one to the east.
Their ancestors had brought cavalry and trampled the fertile farmlands of the Central Plains, setting fire to countless documents. Only afterward had they begun learning the culture of the Central Plains.
The hatred of ancestors could endure for generations. The deeds of fathers could directly shape the loves and hatreds of their children.
Cruelty had become something passed down through the blood.
As they neared the sleeping quarters, Li Zhu climbed down from the palanquin surrounded by dozens of servants.
Step by step, she walked back.
She wandered through the empty streets, her footsteps growing lighter, yet faster and faster, leaving a neat line of footprints behind her.
A wave of hot fragrance from silver-thread charcoal drifted toward her.
Under the covered corridor, she removed her wet shoes and stockings and walked inside barefoot.
There was not a single palace attendant in the chamber.
Wei Qing quietly sat up. He rested his thin chin in his hand and leaned back.
“Li Zhu. Come here.”
She sat down beside him and immediately began pawing at his face, blinking furiously.
“Your Majesty, you’re better? Why are you sitting up?”
Outside, the rain intensified.
In the space of just a few months, there had already been several torrential storms. Countless schemes and intrigues had taken root and flourished between the Emperor’s little household and the great state of the Northern Dynasty, growing more violent with every passing day, like the ever-deepening downpour.
Yet the palace at this moment was utterly still.
Only the sound of water could be heard—one rush following another, faster and fiercer than the last.
It sounded almost as though someone were running barefoot through the dark palace halls, chasing her.
In the stormy night, he tightened his grip on her hand and coughed twice.
“Li Zhu, I’m afraid I won’t make it through tonight.”
She frowned and slapped her hand down on the bed in displeasure, as though quarreling with someone no one else could see.
“No. I can’t bear to lose Your Majesty. You can’t die!”
Wei Qing touched her cheek.
“If you cannot bear to lose me, then come with me.”