Nearly fifteen years had passed since she left her own country.
She often asked herself, how could a woman become emperor in Northern Yue?
“Where is Mother?”
A fourteen-year-old youth, shaking out sweat-dampened hair after training, was bathed in the bright morning sunlight. She followed through with her sword stance, fingertips still tingling with Sword Intent, sweat streaming down her cheeks. Though her expression was somewhat excited, the etiquette she had learned daily compelled her to rein in the surging emotions in her heart.
There was still a trace of youthful playfulness in her nature.
This was the young prince raised deep within the cold palace—Zi Sang Zhen.
She held the hand of her maid, Jin Yu, but quickly realized it was improper etiquette—a prince should not be so intimate with a palace servant. She hurriedly released her hands, returning to the demeanor of an elegant young master, and raised her hands in a respectful bow. “Jin Yu, do you know where Mother is?”
Jin Yu set down the medicinal herbs in her hands, not blaming Zi Sang Zhen for her lack of propriety. The corners of her eyes crinkled as she teased, “What has you so excited that you’ve forgotten again? Be careful, or Her Highness will scold you later!”
Jin Yu and Zi Sang Zhen did not adhere to the usual master-servant formalities. Reaching out, Jin Yu tapped Zi Sang Zhen’s nose and shook her head, though there was no reproach in her gesture.
Zi Sang Zhen understood that Jin Yu had always doted on her, unlike Mother, who was strict. Yet Zi Sang Zhen knew both loved her, only expressing it differently.
In her eyes, Jin Yu seemed more like a mother. When Zi Sang Zhen was unwilling to practice swordsmanship or study, Jin Yu would help her sneak past Mother’s inspections—though Mother usually discovered her laziness.
Sometimes, when her laziness grew severe and her studies declined, Mother would break a plum branch from outside the door and whip her with it.
Though it hurt, she knew she deserved it. After a brief moment of resentment, she would return to normal, pleading and apologizing.
And usually, Mother wasn’t truly angry. After the whipping, she would pull Zi Sang Zhen close with heartache, holding her in her arms to examine the red marks on her hands, applying medicine while scolding her angrily.
Every time, Zi Sang Zhen would nestle in Mother’s embrace, giggling foolishly, laughing even as she winced in pain. Her words were full of pleas, crying and vowing she would never dare again. After all, this was her mother—exasperated and amused, yet ultimately unable to stay angry with her.
But Mother wasn’t entirely stern and unfeeling, aside from those brief moments of tenderness while applying medicine. Every winter, she would build snowmen with Zi Sang Zhen, dressing them up and even sparing some of their scarce rouge to color the snowmen.
Occasionally, when in high spirits, she would call Qian Yu, and the four of them would pair off for snowball fights, creating lively and joyous scenes.
Each time, Zi Sang Zhen was no match for the team of Qian Yu and Jin Yu, always ending up with snow covering her face and her nose red from the cold.
It was only then that Mother would pinch her little cheeks and wipe the water droplets from her face with a silk handkerchief.
Of course, Zi Sang Zhen never missed the chance to tattle! Calling out “Mother, Mother” repeatedly, Zi Sang Zhen, as a young child, had deeply endeared herself to Mother. Though usually strict, Mother still had a motherly side when faced with her antics.
When Zi Sang Zhen was four or five years old, Zi Sang Mu would even stand up for her, giving Qian Yu a thorough beating.
But after Zi Sang Zhen began learning martial arts from Qian Yu, Zi Sang Mu no longer intervened. Instead, she would watch from the sidelines as Zi Sang Zhen was “taught a lesson” by Qian Yu.
Qian Yu was a Shadow Guard and Death Soldier left behind by Zi Sang Mu during her time in the Southern Zhen Kingdom. Zi Sang Zhen did not know much about him, only that his martial prowess was exceptionally high—though just a tiny bit inferior to Zi Sang Mu’s, truly just a tiny bit.
Because Zi Sang Zhen could always see that Qian Yu’s strength fell short of her mother’s, every time the two sparred, Qian Yu would end up utterly defeated.
Although after following Qian Yu, her mother no longer stepped in to defend her, whenever Zi Sang Zhen thought about how her mother was stronger than him, even if she got beaten, she still felt a secret joy in her heart—because her mother was hers too, so it was like repaying a debt on her mother’s behalf.
However, Zi Sang Mu did not always look at her with such a gentle smile. Zi Sang Zhen deeply sensed that her mother was hiding something from her, yet she dared not pierce that dreamlike bubble.
If this moment of tenderness could freeze right here, it would be the most beautiful life imaginable.
“Her Highness is by the plum tree.” Jin Yu stopped teasing Zi Sang Zhen, seeing her anxious expression as if something urgent had come up.
Zi Sang Zhen was not surprised, after all, her mother loved to lose herself in thought under that plum tree. Every year after the first snow of winter, even during the coldest times, she would sit before it.
Unhindered by wind or snow.
When it snowed, she would not miss it even if holding an umbrella.
As a child, Zi Sang Zhen had once asked Jin Yu why her mother was so persistent. What had Jin Yu said back then? Zi Sang Zhen couldn’t quite remember.
She only vaguely recalled being told she would understand when she grew up. But now Zi Sang Zhen was already fourteen and still didn’t know, nor did she know when this so-called “growing up” would happen.
Yet Zi Sang Zhen didn’t dwell on such matters; she was eager to share her joy with her mother.
“Mother!” Her flustered haste once again made her lose her composure.
The woman beneath the plum tree sat facing it, holding a plain white oil-paper umbrella, a white mink cloak draped over her shoulders to ward off the winter chill. Her dark hair cascaded down, resting on her shoulders. Hearing Zi Sang Zhen’s call, she slowly turned her head.
Weathered by the winter cold for so long, Zi Sang Mu’s face was pale, her plain white robes blending seamlessly with the surroundings.
Despite her fragile and pallid appearance, Zi Sang Mu did not show any sign of weakness, coldly rebuking, “Mind your composure!”
Zi Sang Zhen pouted, displeased, but she dared not disobey. Biting her lip reluctantly, she replied, “As you command!”
The melancholy mood did not last long; Zi Sang Zhen quickly adjusted her emotions. “Mother, look at me! Qian Yu taught me a new move today! I mastered it right away! He said I’m a genius!”
Children will always be children—unable to resist showing off something newly learned. Zi Sang Mu was not one to spoil the fun. She stood up and nodded slightly, signaling her to demonstrate.
With permission granted, Zi Sang Zhen cast aside her earlier discontent, drew her sword, and took a few steps back.
Her movements flowed like clouds and water, each stance executed perfectly. The spirited confidence unique to youth was fully displayed in that moment.
Zi Sang Mu couldn’t help but reminisce about her own past self, once just like that—even hailed as a general when mounting a warhorse, yet now confined within the deep palace.
The Sword Qi enveloping the blade swept up the frost from the ground, flew past the branches, and struck a bird foraging in winter. A sharp cry from the bird snapped Zi Sang Mu out of her reverie.
The melancholy mood was dispelled by her daughter’s excellence, and she couldn’t help but smile, clapping her hands together. “Zhen’er, you’re becoming more and more impressive.”
Zi Sang Zhen, who had just finished her moves, blushed at the praise, turning her head away in embarrassment and stammering, “It’s… just barely passable.”
Zi Sang Mu saw right through her shyness but didn’t tease her further.
Zi Sang Zhen leaped to Zi Sang Mu’s side, leaning against the plum tree beside her, and asked somewhat puzzled, “Mother, why do you like being here so much?”
Zi Sang Mu didn’t directly respond to Zi Sang Zhen’s question. Instead, she turned and broke off a branch from the plum tree behind her. “It’s not about liking it.”
Zi Sang Zhen didn’t understand. If it wasn’t out of fondness, why did she come here every single year without fail? But if it was fondness, why did she always wear that endless expression of sorrow?
“It’s the remnants of my past life.”
“…”
Before Zi Sang Zhen could continue her questioning, Jin Yu quickly emerged and stopped her from speaking further. “Young Princess, Your Highness, the meal is ready.”
Zi Sang Zhen was somewhat displeased by Jin Yu’s interruption and glared at her, but Jin Yu behind her showed no sign of fear, continuing to smile with her eyes narrowed.
Zi Sang Mu naturally understood Jin Yu’s intentions and didn’t refuse this opportunity to change the subject. She patted Zi Sang Zhen’s head. “You’ve grown so tall already.”
The latter quickly stepped back two paces, complaining, “Mother, I’m almost sixteen! Don’t treat me like a child anymore!”
Zi Sang Mu looked at her empty palm and couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, alright. It would be nice if you could stay a child forever…”
“Stop chatting, the food will get cold!” Jin Yu called out again upon seeing this.
Zi Sang Mu waved her hand, signaling Zi Sang Zhen to go ahead.
She continued to gaze at the plum tree before her, wondering what thoughts occupied her heart at this moment.
Perhaps she was thinking of the time before entering the palace, or maybe contemplating Zi Sang Zhen’s future. But what exactly it was, only Zi Sang Mu herself knew.
“Ah!” Zi Sang Zhen woke up early in the morning, frightened by the bloodstains beneath her.
She didn’t know why, but her stomach felt as if it were sinking, accompanied by pain. It wasn’t unbearable, yet the discomfort pricked at her relentlessly.
Even when she accidentally cut her arm while practicing swordplay as a child, it hadn’t hurt with such dense, persistent pain. It wasn’t exactly excruciating, either.
Amidst the sensation of countless ants biting, there were occasional waves of downward surges—a feeling Zi Sang Zhen had never experienced before. And with each surge of pain came another flow of blood.
Staring at the blood trickling out beneath her, staining her faded inner garment, her mind went completely blank.
Everything had been fine just yesterday, yet today the bleeding wouldn’t stop, as if her life were slipping away.
Zi Sang Zhen couldn’t help but wonder: Was this heaven’s retribution for living so freely these past ten-odd years? She began to think that perhaps she should leave her last words early, lest her mother, Jin Yu, and Qian Yu… would weep.
She hadn’t even spent enough time with them properly. Was the day of parting arriving so swiftly?
Since she could remember, Zi Sang Zhen had never cried. But this time, she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her mother, Jin Yu, and Qian Yu behind. If she were to depart like this, how sorrowful they would be.
For a moment, she couldn’t hold back her tears. With eyes brimming, she struggled to get up.
Dragging her battered body, Zi Sang Zhen immediately sought out Jin Yu. She wanted to give her mother a little more time to process, and besides, Jin Yu knew medicine—perhaps there was still hope for her!
Unable to stop the bleeding below, she didn’t bother with it. Anxious and not even bothering to dress, she wrapped herself in a blanket and rushed toward Jin Yu’s door.
“Jin Yu! Jin Yu!”
Zi Sang Zhen’s voice was frantic, but Jin Yu merely thought she had some new curiosity to share and didn’t respond right away. It was a rare day off for her, and she was still lost in a dream.
But how could Zi Sang Zhen afford to wait? This was a matter of life and death!
Without hesitation, she pushed open the door. The winter wind swept in, startling Jin Yu awake from her dreams.
“What is it?” Though forcibly roused, Jin Yu still managed to ask patiently.
Zi Sang Zhen flung open the blanket, lowered her head, and said with a choked voice, “Look at me! How much longer do I have to live?”
Jin Yu was jolted awake by the sight of the crimson stain.
For a long moment, Jin Yu couldn’t speak. At first, she was startled, but then her expression filled with a sigh and sorrow.
Zi Sang Zhen had often seen such an expression on her mother’s face, but this was the first time Jin Yu had shown it.
“Do I… do I only have a few days left?” Tears finally spilled from Zi Sang Zhen’s eyes, unable to be held back.
“Ah, no, no! It’s not a big deal—well, it is, but not in that way.” This was also the first time Jin Yu found herself at a loss for how to explain.
This was also Zi Sang Mu’s fault. Zi Sang Mu had always refused to teach her such knowledge because Zi Sang Zhen had been raised as a boy. Teaching her too early might have led to confusion.
Though they had never told her she was a girl.
But now the biggest problem was figuring out what she actually was!
Jin Yu stood up and approached, wrapping the blanket around her. “It’s nothing serious. It just means you’ve become an adult, with the ability to bear life. This crimson stain isn’t some fatal illness—it’s just your Kuishui (Menstrual Blood).”
“…?”
“It’s something every woman experiences in her life, so there’s no need to panic or be afraid.” Jin Yu comforted her gently.
Zi Sang Zhen was confused. “But aren’t I a prince?” In the stories she’d read, princes never bore life.
Right, Zi Sang Zhen was a prince—a prince whose gender had been concealed.
Jin Yu paused, then smiled without contradicting her.
“Yes, you are a prince—a female prince of Northern Yue.”
[Author’s Note]
Finally starting this story! So excited, even though I have no backlog—I’ll work hard to write, wuwuwu!
If you like it, dear readers, feel free to bookmark it! [Three-flowered cat head]
Upcoming stories:
“After Faking My Death, My Ex-Husband Brought Our Child to Beg for Reconciliation” — an abstract-style sweet romance.
“Human Purge Plan [Infinite]” — a female-centric infinite flow story.