After taking two doses of medicine, Qian Jiaoniang vomited fresh blood. Xing Muzheng, for the first time, understood what it meant to have one’s soul nearly scatter in fright. He hurriedly had Divine Physician Wan summoned. But when Divine Physician Wan arrived and took a look, he rejoiced greatly, declaring that Jiaoniang had expelled the poisonous blood and could indeed be saved.
The torment in Xing Muzheng’s heart at last eased.
So the autumn wind turned crisp, and sweet dew fell again.
Qian Jiaoniang’s illness gradually improved. Of the plague victims in Pingchuan, only two died; the rest slowly recovered. During this time, Xing Muzheng himself was diagnosed with the sickness, but since his case was light and his constitution strong, he soon recovered as well.
One day, Divine Physician Wan took the pulses of both Qian Jiaoniang and Xing Muzheng, and concluded they were fully healed. Overjoyed to the point of tears, Qian Jiaoniang threw herself into Xing Muzheng’s arms. He held her tightly. The physician and others tactfully withdrew, leaving the reunited pair of lovers alone.
When the city gates reopened, the entire populace of Pingchuan knelt along the roads, respectfully sending Qian Jiaoniang, Xing Muzheng, and their retinue out of the city. At some point, word had spread: because the True Dragon Son of Heaven and the Nine-Heaven Phoenix Maiden were guarding Pingchuan, even such a great evil as the plague could not run rampant. Heaven had meant to punish Pingchuan with utter destruction, but because the future Emperor and Empress chose to live and die with them, they endured until the divine physician arrived with medicine to deliver them.
“Long live Our Emperor! Long live! Long live! May the Empress live a thousand years, ten thousand years!”
No one knew who first shouted it, but the whole city joined in, their cries echoing without end.
Qian Jiaoniang and Xing Muzheng rode side by side, slightly astonished, and exchanged a look. Xing Muzheng already guessed it was Huang Gong’s doing. He gave Jiaoniang a reassuring nod.
As expected, the rumors in Pingchuan had been spread by Huang Gong. Though he did not fully grasp Xing Muzheng’s devotion to Jiaoniang, he understood at least one thing: Xing Muzheng had thrown away everything—even life itself—to stay by her side. Whether he understood or not, the fact remained—
Xing Muzheng’s empress could only ever be her.
Thus, as a loyal subject, Huang Gong never considered seeking another lord. Naturally, he seized this heaven-sent chance to pave the road for Xing Muzheng and Jiaoniang toward the imperial palace of Yongan.
Not just Pingchuan—the entire Great Xie realm was soon filled with tales of the Emperor and Empress.
Some remnants of the Wu clan royal family had been fanning flames during Xing Muzheng’s time in Pingchuan, each proclaiming themselves kings in various territories, hoping to brand him a traitor and usurper, then take Yongan for themselves. But when this wondrous tale spread far and wide, the people—who had long trusted the general who protected them—now believed more than ever that he was their guardian spirit. If such a man became Emperor, he would surely protect them even more.
Thus, Xing Muzheng, by disaster, gained fortune—he won the people’s support. Hang Zhi struck while the iron was hot, sending ceremonial guards to invite Xing Muzheng back to Yongan to ascend the throne.
Xing Muzheng no longer declined. Together with Qian Jiaoniang and Xing Pingchun, he led a mighty procession back to Yongan, ascended the throne, offered sacrifice to Heaven, and proclaimed amnesty for all. He changed the dynasty’s name to Yu, and the reign title to Wu.
Xing Muzheng granted titles and rewards. Hang Zhi remained prime minister, Huang Gong was named Grand Preceptor and chief minister of the cabinet, Second Brother Zheng became Duke Zheng, and Xing Yanan, Zhen Hao, Wang Yong, Ah Da, and others were rewarded for merit. Li Qingquan remained in the palace. The former royal family was reduced to commoners, save the Second Prince Wu Jian, enfeoffed as Marquis Xiaoyao, and Wu Ze stayed by Xing Pingchun’s side.
Soon after, Xing Muzheng grandly married his Empress.
That day, Qian Jiaoniang, crowned with the Nine-Dragon Nine-Phoenix diadem and clad in phoenix robes, departed from the newly restored Marquis Dingxi’s residence. Di Qingya and Qian Meiniang, dressed in first-rank noblewomen’s court attire, supported her out. Xing Muzheng broke with custom and personally led Xing Pingchun and Xing Pingrui to welcome the Empress into the palace. Taking Jiaoniang, veiled by pearl curtains, into his arms, he lifted her onto the ornate phoenix carriage carved with dragons and phoenixes, secretly pinching her slender waist. Jiaoniang smacked his hand, while he smiled with his lips.
The officials of honor opened the procession. The Empress’s grand ceremonial escort, sedan chairs, treasure pavilions—an immense palanquin borne by sixteen men—rose steadily. Four noblewomen accompanied in front, seven followed behind, guards carried censers, red-clad troops held lanterns. Xing Muzheng led at the front, Xing Pingchun carried little Pingrui on horseback at his side. Civil and military officials escorted before and behind, while the people thronged the roads, a mighty tide surging toward the palace.
Behind followed the Empress’s ten-li bridal dowry—much of it not from the palace, but treasures chosen by Xing Muzheng himself from his hoards. Even when the front of the procession was out of sight, dowry continued being carried forth at the rear.
At last, they entered the palace and sent her into the bridal chamber. Qian Jiaoniang, her old bones nearly shaken apart, still sat properly on the bed’s edge, waiting for Xing Muzheng.
Before long, the outer rooms grew lively. Jiaoniang could tell it was her eldest son leading the younger, bringing others to playfully disturb their parents’ bridal chamber.
Naturally, the father was stern—he drove them all out.
Wearing his crimson dragon robe, Xing Muzheng appeared inside the chamber. Jiaoniang’s maids knelt, smiling and kowtowing with congratulations.
Xing Muzheng dismissed them all. Even the red-silk matron, though wanting to protest that the veil wasn’t lifted and the wine not drunk, thought better of it—knowing their case was unusual—and withdrew with a smile.
When all had left, Xing Muzheng slowly came to Jiaoniang’s side. In the glow of candlelight, Jiaoniang slightly lowered her head, the pearl curtain before her face shimmering with dazzling light.
Xing Muzheng bent down and reached out to part the pearl curtain. The strands of pearls chimed softly, and Qian Jiaoniang’s beautiful face appeared before him.
She held her breath, her heart pounding wildly. Though they had long been husband and wife, she truly felt again the fluttering thrill she’d had when she first married him.
Her almond-shaped eyes lifted slightly, tinged with coyness and allure, meeting the intense focus in Xing Muzheng’s dark gaze.
Their eyes locked, as though they were crossing mountains and rivers to reach one another.
After a long, deep look, Xing Muzheng gently caressed her face, removed her phoenix crown, then fetched the nuptial wine from the side. He drank his half, then cupped her face and passed the wine to her lips with his own.
The two finished the nuptial wine that way, their lips and tongues entwined. Xing Muzheng pressed against her lips and said: “Life and death, together.”
Qian Jiaoniang answered him fervently: “Never to part, never to forsake!”
***
The palace at last welcomed its mistress. Yet the Emperor and Empress enjoyed only three leisurely days before busyness descended. The new Yu Dynasty had everything to rebuild. Xing Muzheng ordered his confidants to bring out all the remaining treasure hoards to use for the people’s livelihood. He was never one to covet private gain, nor did he wish to hoard wealth for descendants “just in case.” If treasures had been of real use, the former dynasty would not have fallen; as it was, those riches had nearly been buried forever in dust. Better to make use of them—perhaps only a strong empire could ensure the dynasty’s lasting survival.
He began by dealing with corrupt officials, then announced that the imperial examinations would be widely opened to accept talented men from all quarters.
Before long, the Yu Dynasty’s first Spring Festival arrived.
Compared to the lonely New Years of past years, this year Qian Jiaoniang went all out, holding a grand celebration in the palace, a festival shared by the whole nation.
After the festival came spring, when all things flourished—an auspicious time for marriage. Yet the new imperial harem had only one empress, and the newly established crown prince had no consort. It was like two prime cuts of meat, surrounded by howling wolves. Sure enough, before long, some officials raised the matter: for the prosperity of the imperial line, ladies should be chosen to fill the harem.
But the officials were sly. They all knew the new Emperor had once risked even his life for the Empress. Fearing to provoke her, they disguised their proposal as choosing a wife for the crown prince, offering up various maidens of marriageable age.
This, in fact, suited Qian Jiaoniang’s wishes. Once, she could never have dreamed her own son would one day be in a position to choose from so many fine girls for a wife. Since the opportunity was here, she saw no reason to be coy—she busily set to preparations. Xing Muzheng too gave his consent. On the day of the selection, he went to court as usual, saying that afterwards he would send Xing Pingchun back so she could take him along.
“You make that boy keep steady,” he instructed. “Don’t let him get so dazzled by beauty he forgets himself. He must first pick a crown princess—the future empress. Best he choose one steady and dignified.”
Qian Jiaoniang straightened his robes for him. “And if he doesn’t fancy the steady and dignified one?”
Xing Muzheng gave her a look. “Let him decide for himself.”
Suier laughed. “Your Majesty, our crown prince is a crown prince now. If he wants a few, he can have a few—he can take a steady and dignified one and a lively and charming one into the Eastern Palace together.”
Qian Jiaoniang replied, “Does the crown prince have gold plastered on him? He’s only one person—what use is a flock of concubines? The more people in the harem, the more trouble. Nothing good comes of it! I say, if he doesn’t meet the right one this time, let it be, and we’ll look again later.”
Xing Muzheng said, “You decide.”
“MotherMother” Before the little one, Ni Xue, entered, his voice had already arrived.
Qian Jiaoniang answered with a smile. Xing Muzheng bent to kiss her, then turned to leave for court. At the threshold he ran into his younger son struggling to climb over the step, with the wet nurses and servants of the Second Prince kneeling in haste. Xing Muzheng waved them up.
“Father! Father!”
He gave his son a light pat on the backside and strode out of the hall.
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