The First Year of Zhaoming. Jiang-zhou. A Winter Night.
The gale howled through the pitch-dark wilderness as hurried footsteps approached, accompanied by heavy, ragged panting.
Suddenly, there was a muffled cry as someone stumbled and fell. The person ahead immediately turned back to help.
“Are you all right?” a man asked softly.
“I’m fine, just tripped over something,” a woman replied, scrambling to her feet.
“And the child?” the man asked, a trace of worry in his voice.
A flint sparked, and a small flame flickered to life, illuminating the faces of a man and a woman.
Their clothes were tattered, marking them as poor commoners, yet in the dim firelight, their faces bore a hint of prosperity. Both now looked down at the bundle in the woman’s arms.
It was a small, tightly wrapped quilt. The woman reached to pull back a corner, revealing a baby inside, sleeping peacefully with a plump, rosy face. Perhaps disturbed by the light or the cold wind, the infant stirred slightly, turning its head and rubbing a tiny fist against its ear.
The woman quickly covered the baby again.
“He’s all right. The young master is fine,” she said.
The man nodded, reached out, and took the child from her.
“Let me carry him. We need to hurry,” he whispered.
No sooner had he spoken than his expression changed.
“This is bad,” he said. “They’re coming.”
The woman’s face went pale as she scrambled up, and the flickering flame of the flint was snuffed out by the sudden movement.
“They’re so close,” the man muttered. “Someone must have predicted our route.”
“What do we do? We can’t get away,” the woman’s voice trembled with tears.
“As long as we’re not caught, we keep running,” the man said, a note of grim resolve in his voice. He secured the child on his back. “I refuse to believe the Cheng family bloodline ends here.”
Two figures stumbled forward through the deepening night.
Behind them, the sound of galloping hoofbeats drew closer, accompanied by the baying of hounds.
The torches blazed brightly, illuminating a tightly disciplined troop equipped with an array of weapons.
The leader at the front reined in his horse.
“Which way?” he barked.
A scholar stepped forward from behind him, holding a compass in his hand. He glanced up at the sky, then down at the compass, and finally made a quick calculation with his fingers.
“That way,” he declared, pointing in the direction the man and woman had just fled.
The commander pulled an object from his waist. In the torchlight, it revealed itself as a bamboo tube with an iron handle.
“By His Majesty’s order, every member of the Cheng clan is to be executed – no prisoners. One head is worth the rank of a military governor!” He laughed heartily. “Let’s see how many governorships our guns will earn for us tonight!”
The men behind him roared in unison, raising their own gun into the air.
The sound of galloping hoofbeats thundered away into the night.
At the same time, within the capital of Great Liang, at the Bureau of Astronomy.
The heavy doors at the base of the imposing tower swung open. Escorted by a squad of tall Imperial Guards, a man draped in a cloak entered.
Instead of ascending the stairs, he walked directly towards a wall. A guard beside him pushed hard against it, and the entire wall pivoted, revealing a descending staircase.
Step by step, he went down. The basement opened up into a vast, brightly lit space, with torches blazing as brightly as day.
Chained to the wall hung a middle-aged man, covered in wounds and scars.
Iron chains pierced through his shoulders and legs, suspending him in mid-air – a sight of utter horror.
“Surely it’s more comfortable residing in a place you built with your own hands than in a prison dungeon, isn’t it?”
Footsteps halted, and a clear, resonant male voice spoke.
“Father.”
The address sounded utterly chilling in this context. The middle-aged man slowly raised his head. His pale, haggard, and gaunt face broke into a faint, wry smile.
“Your Majesty has arrived,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and slow.
The visitor came to a stop. With one hand, he pushed back his hood and shrugged off his cloak, revealing a tall, imposing frame clad in brilliant crimson brocade. Under the bright torchlight, the attire was almost dazzling. He raised his head, his handsome features severe, his gaze piercing.
“Father,” he said. “I ask you once more. At whose hand will Great Liang fall?”
The middle-aged man chuckled.
“Ah-Si,” he called out abruptly.
A guard standing nearby gave an almost imperceptible twitch of his brow, unable to resist a glance.
Chen Sun of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices is truly audacious, he thought. Even now, he dares to address His Majesty by his childhood name.
Yang Shan fixed him with a stern, solemn gaze.
“Father,” he said. “You have calculated fates all your life. Did you ever foresee your own end?”
Chen Sun laughed softly.
“Your Majesty,” he said, ignoring the question. “How is my Ah-Fang?”
When the name “Ah-Fang” was spoken, Yang Shan’s expression did not change in the slightest.
“Ah-Fang,” he slowly enunciated the name.
“She was…”
“…excellent.”
“Beautiful.”
“Intelligent.”
“‘There is a lovely lady.'”
“‘Who is everything my heart desires.'”
Chen Sun watched him, a faint smile lingering on his face throughout.
“Father,” Yang Shan said, looking at him, his hands clasped behind his back as he stood solemnly. “I have posthumously honored Ah-Fang as Empress Xiaozhao. She was my finest empress. I thank you, Father, for raising and nurturing such a peerless, matchless empress for our Great Liang.”
Chen Sun threw his head back and laughed.
“Does Your Majesty believe,” he said, “that our Cheng family raised and educated such a ‘good empress’… for you?”
As he spoke, he shifted his body, causing the iron chains to clatter violently.
The guards immediately stepped forward.
“Your Majesty, take care,” they said, positioning themselves protectively in front of Yang Shan with a wary air.
Even though Chen Sun was a broken man now, the thought of the Cheng clan’s strange talents and cunning skills still stirred a sliver of fear within them.
Yang Shan raised a hand, motioning the guards aside, and looked steadily at Chen Sun.
“Our Ah-Fang was naturally brilliant.”
“Our Ah-Fang could remember anything after a single glance.”
“Our Ah-Fang was nurtured with the combined strength of our entire clan.”
“Our Ah-Fang possessed the talents of our entire clan.”
Chen Sun laughed loudly, his pale face alight with joy and pride.
“Did our family nurture such an Ah-Fang,” he declared, “merely because she happened to meet you at the age of four?”
Yang Shan watched him.
“Father,” he said. “At whose hand will Great Liang fall? Where is the secret of the Cheng family’s divination hidden?”
But Chen Sun seemed not to hear him.
“My Ah-Fang was a good child,” he continued, his expression turning sorrowful as he spoke. “My Ah-Fang… was a poor, unfortunate child.”
As the words “poor, unfortunate child” were uttered, a flicker of shadow passed through Yang Shan’s eyes, but clarity returned almost instantly.
“But the Cheng clan has never feared hardship!” Chen Sun suddenly raised his voice again, his eyes blazing bright. “My Ah-Fang was surely fearless and undaunted, untouched by sorrow or grief. My Ah-Fang would never have failed the name of Cheng!”
Watching Chen Sun grow increasingly agitated, Yang Shan turned his head and let out a soft sigh.
“Your Majesty, nothing more can be learned from him. He has gone mad,” a guard whispered.
As if confirming the guard’s words, Chen Sun ceased repeating his mantra about “Ah-Fang” and instead began to sing.
“The heavens are wrathful, the spirits enraged; stern slaughter ends, corpses strewn on plains… Once gone forth, never to return; the plains stretch vast, the road is long and far…”
“Long sword at waist, Qin bow in hand; head severed from body, yet the heart does not repent… Truly valiant and also martial, ever steadfast, unyielding to insult…”
The archaic Chu dialect, the strange melody, coupled with Chen Sun’s swaying, pierced body making eerie gestures, cast a sinister gloom over the basement chamber. In the guards’ eyes, even the bright torches seemed to dim.
Yang Shan glanced at Chen Sun, then turned and left, ascending the stairs step by step. The wall slid shut behind him, completely muffling the sound of the song.
In the Rear Palace of Great Liang, the lamps and lanterns burned brightly.
Seeing the imperial retinue approach from afar, a consort waiting outside the Emperor’s bedchamber knelt in greeting.
“What matter brings the Empress here so late?” Yang Shan asked, his gaze not even falling upon the woman before him.
“Your Majesty, last time you mentioned the mutton soup I prepared was delicious. I specially made some for a late-night repast,” the Empress said, performing a formal salute.
“What was delicious last time, I do not find delicious this time,” Yang Shan stated, and stepped over the threshold into the hall.
The Empress stood awkwardly in place, unsure whether to leave or follow him in. Finally, she covered her face and hurried away.
“These people,” Yang Shan said inside the bedchamber as attendants helped him remove his outer robe, “even when trying to curry favor, they are so affected and artificial. It’s repulsive.”
Not like her.
“I made this specially for you. Could it possibly be bad?”
For a moment, it seemed a young lady was reclining before him, speaking with playful complaint.
A faint smile touched the corner of Yang Shan’s mouth but vanished instantly. He lowered his gaze and continued forward. The eunuchs lifted the inner curtains, watching as the Emperor stepped inside, one deliberate pace at a time.
The bedchamber was simply furnished. The eunuchs had all withdrawn. Even with charcoal braziers lit, the winter night felt cold and hollow within.
Yang Shan stood by the bed, looking at a small table beside it. A piece of black cloth covered the table’s surface.
“Ah-Fang,” he said. “It’s good that you are here.”
As he spoke, he reached out and lifted the black cloth, revealing a box beneath.
It was a crystal box, exquisitely carved and dazzlingly brilliant. Looking closer, what lay at its center, vibrant and arresting, was a heart.
The heart appeared freshly removed, still bright and crimson.
Yang Shan reached out and gently touched the box.
“Ah-Fang, you’ve been alone here all day. Were you lonely?” he said, sitting down beside it. “Don’t be afraid. I’m back. I’ll keep you company.”
He smiled faintly again.
“And you will keep me company.”
“I will be with you forever, and you will be with me forever.”
“Isn’t that wonderful?”
His gaze fixed on the crystal box, his expression suddenly changed. He lifted the box with both hands, as if to see more clearly.
“Someone! Someone come here!” he shouted abruptly.
Lamps were lit one by one throughout the bedchamber, especially concentrated around the crystal box.
A gaunt, wiry man straightened up from examining the box, his brow deeply furrowed.
“How is it?” Yang Shan demanded.
“Your Majesty, it is indeed… decaying,” the man said.
Upon hearing this, Yang Shan lashed out with a kick. The man stumbled and fell to the floor, but dared not resist, instead scrambling back to his knees.
“Scoundrel.”
The curse fell from above like a hammer blow.
“How can it be decaying? You said it would not decay! How can Ah-Fang’s heart decay?! She is supposed to stay with me for a lifetime!”
All the eunuchs in the room knelt trembling on the ground.
“Perhaps the box is faulty,” someone stammered. “Quick, fetch another one!”
The man kneeling on the floor kowtowed.
“Impossible! This crystal box could never fail,” he insisted.
Yang Shan stopped before him.
“Then you tell me,” he roared, his handsome face contorted in a way that made it unbearable to look upon, “why is this happening? Why is my Ah-Fang’s heart rotting?”
The man gritted his teeth.
“Your Majesty, the Empress’s heart… it is highly likely it has become… defunct,” he said.
Defunct?
The person is already dead, so naturally the heart is defunct. How strange these occultists speak.
The eunuchs kept their heads bowed, their thoughts churning silently.
“How could her heart possibly be defunct?” Yang Shan sneered. “Nangong, do not forget, I am the Cheng clan’s son-in-law.”
Though not equal to the Cheng clansmen in talent and learning, after so many years of being steeped in their ways, he was not someone a mere occultist could easily deceive.
The man kowtowed again.
“I dare not,” he said hastily, then hesitated. “What I mean to say is… this… is no longer the Empress’s heart. That is why it has become defunct.”
Yang Shan laughed even harder.
“This is not Ah-Fang’s heart?” he said. “I cut it from her body with my own hands! Would I mistake my own Ah-Fang?”
The man raised his head, his expression filled with bewilderment. Yes, what was happening? It shouldn’t be like this, logically speaking. Yet why did all signs point to this exact outcome?
Why would a person’s heart suddenly cease to be their own? Why would it change?
What was going on?
The heart within the crystal box was decaying faster and faster. Even as they spoke, its vibrant crimson turned into a withered black.
Yang Shan lunged forward, clutching the box desperately.
“Ah-Fang! Ah-Fang!” he cried out loudly.
Whether from overwhelming agitation or something else, his steps suddenly faltered. He raised a hand to his chest and staggered, collapsing to the side.
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”
Eunuchs surged forward, and chaos erupted within the hall.
“Summon the imperial doctors! The doctors!”
Yang Shan had already slumped to the ground. One hand clutched at his chest as if his own heart were being slowly torn from him, while the other still held the crystal box in a death grip.
Inside the box, the heart had finally transformed into a shriveled, blackened mass of decay.
Ah-Fang! Ah-Fang! Come back! Come back!
…
Heaven and earth seemed to merge into one. The darkness just before dawn rendered everything within sight a murky blur.
In a stretch of marshland, the chirping of insects abruptly ceased. From the distance came the sound of da-da hoofbeats, followed by several pairs of glinting green eyes, accompanied by heavy, panting breaths.
The hunting hounds, sniffing with lowered heads, suddenly halted and looked up in one direction.
Behind them, the sound of horse hooves grew closer, along with the bright glare of torches.
The hounds barked and lunged in a certain direction. The wind stirred by their movement rustled the reeds. Suddenly, a rabbit sprang up from another spot, darting away into the night like a loosed arrow.
The hounds skidded to a stop, wheeled around, and pounced toward the rabbit. With furious howls, they gave chase, splashing through the marsh and sending muck flying in all directions.
“That way!”
The group that had followed pointed in the direction the hounds had raced off, urging their horses forward.
“That doesn’t seem right,” the scholar shouted, looking up at the sky.
The sky was pitch black. In the torchlight, his face showed uncertainty. He extended a hand, performing quick calculations with his fingers.
“It shouldn’t be that way,” he muttered.
“Then which way should we go?” the leading officer yelled.
The scholar frowned, seemingly struggling to make a decision.
“Forget it, let’s follow them first. It’s not like they can escape from this small area anyway,” the officer shouted.
Well, that made sense. The scholar nodded.
The troop then pursued the hounds.
After a long chase, they finally saw the hounds returning, one of them carrying a rabbit in its mouth. The leading officer spat in disgust and cursed under his breath, preparing to turn his horse around.
Suddenly, a firework streaked across the night sky, exploding and illuminating almost half the sky.
“Oh no! Something has happened in the capital!” the commanding officer cried out, pointing toward the distant light.
Everyone looked over, their faces under the torchlight etched with shock.
“Go, go, go! Head back to Jiang-zhou immediately!”
Following the order, the hounds and men scrambled back the way they had come, galloping wildly across the wilderness.
The marshland fell silent once more. Gradually, the chirping of insects resumed. The east began to lighten; darkness receded, replaced by a hazy, bluish glow.
Within the marsh, the reeds rustled violently. A man emerged. His clothes were soaked through, caked in mud. Shivering violently in the winter cold, his teeth chattered, but he ignored his own discomfort for warmth. Instead, he hastily unbuttoned his outer robe and retrieved a bundled quilt from against his chest.
A woman crawled out trembling from the muddy water nearby and collapsed onto the ground.
“The young master… is he all right?” she stammered, her voice shaking.
The man opened the quilt and looked inside.
The infant within was still sleeping, cheeks rosy, even blowing a tiny bubble.
The man couldn’t help but smile.
“Let’s go,” he said urgently. “Quickly.”
He rewrapped the child securely against his chest, then helped the woman up from the ground. The two of them stumbled forward, running as fast as they could.
The sky grew bright. The sun rose. A new day had arrived.
