Shen Yujiao froze, unable to give an immediate answer. After a moment, she asked, “Do you want Mother to remarry?”
Di Ge’er blinked. “That’s Mother’s decision. Why should you ask me what I want?”
Yes.
It was her decision.
Whether she remarried or not, it should follow her own heart.
That was close. She had almost fallen right into Madam Wang’s trap.
Shen Yujiao raised her hands and cupped Di Ge’er’s face. “This… Mother hasn’t thought it through yet, so I can’t answer you now.”
Di Ge’er nodded. “That’s fine. Mother can take her time.”
Then, he lifted his small hand and gently brushed her brow. “Mother, don’t frown. I don’t want you to be unhappy.”
“Alright, no more frowning.”
Shen Yujiao said softly, “When Mother has thought it through, I’ll answer your question then.”
“Okay.”
Because of Di Ge’er’s question, Shen Yujiao couldn’t sleep the entire night.
It was only her first day back, and Madam Wang was already saying such things to the child.
She didn’t know exactly what had been said, but the rhetoric elders used with children was nothing new, things like, ‘Your mother doesn’t want you anymore,’ ‘Your mother is going to run off with another man,’ ‘You’ll be so pitiful, left without a father or mother.’
To say that sort of thing to a five-year-old child…
Shen Yujiao’s lips pressed tightly together, and a dull ache spread through her chest.
But Di Ge’er’s question today had indeed left her stunned.
Not the kind of stunned that comes from anger or outrage or absurdity but one of confusion, hesitation, and uncertainty.
If she were one of those chaste, virtuous widows, she would have immediately denied it: “Of course not. I will never remarry. I will stay faithful to your father all my life, raise you well, and when you pass the civil examinations, take a wife, and have children and grandchildren, my life will be complete.”
That was the path most widows of noble families chose.
Countless women like Madam Wang spent their whole lives upholding such vows, becoming names on tablets of virtue, figures immortalized beneath towering memorial archways.
The world admired those archways’ grandeur, yet never glimpsed the living, breathing women behind them, their joys and sorrows, their beating hearts.
Shen Yujiao had thought such rebellious, unfilial thoughts had long been worn away. But now she realized they had merely been covered for a time by years of peace and gentleness.
And with one question from Di Ge’er, all those suppressed, wayward thoughts—those “foolish” stirrings of defiance rose to the surface again.
Remarry?
Or stay within the Pei family, a proper widow, raising her son until he came of age?
In her mind flickered Madam Wang’s resentful, venomous eyes; then Di Ge’er’s innocent face; and Pei Xia’s letter of release, as well as Xie Wuling’s burning, resolute smile when they parted ways…
All of it tangled together into a knot she could neither untie nor cut through, leaving her restless and unsettled.
In the end, exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she drifted into a heavy, muddled sleep.
The next morning, when Shen Yujiao awoke to bright spring sunlight streaming through the window, her gaze was clear and calm.
The child had said there was no hurry that she could think slowly.
How could a mother live with less clarity than her own child?
Besides, there were enough matters at hand for now. Everything else could wait.
—
While Shen Yujiao was busy with the formal funeral rites in Wenxi, Xie Wuling was in Chang’an, having just been granted the title of Wuan Marquis.
In addition, Emperor Chunqing intended to bestow a marriage upon him, offering the Empress’s younger sister as his bride.
He refused.
Then the emperor offered him a fine mansion in the capital.
Xie Wuling waved it off as well. “This humble servant came to Chang’an only to deliver the victory report and collect the twenty percent interest promised by Your Majesty last year. Once that’s done, I’ll return to Yanbei.”
He added with a half-smile, “But if Your Majesty truly wishes to reward me, you could always convert that mansion’s value into silver and let me bring it north to build a new home there.”
His words made Emperor Chunqing laugh aloud.
It was strange, he used to find Xie Wuling’s glib, roguish manner insufferable.
But after more time in his company, he found the man oddly likable, straightforward, easy to talk to, the sort of presence that made one relax.
Unlike Pei Shouzhen, who had been like the cold moon over a distant peak, like a breeze over a mountain stream—elegant, yes, but elusive, untouchable, exhausting to fathom.
Ah, Pei Shouzhen.
At the thought of him, Emperor Chunqing sighed. Though there had been friction between them, now that Pei Xia was truly dead, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret.
Still, dying as he did at least preserved for him the name of a loyal minister for the ages…
Otherwise, the emperor couldn’t be sure that as the rift between ruler and subject deepened, they wouldn’t have ended as enemies, blade against blade.
—
After last year’s scandal over the withheld military funds, Emperor Chunqing dared not short Yanbei even a single coin this time.
By the end of March, the spring tax silver arrived from every province. Before it could even warm in the Ministry of Revenue’s vaults, it was boxed up and loaded straight onto wagons bound for Yanbei.
After the accounts were settled, Xie Wuling went to Zichen Hall to bid farewell.
The emperor spoke at length, full of reluctant sentiment.
Xie Wuling bowed his head and endured the courtesies patiently.
When the emperor finally said, “I suppose my beloved subject is eager to return to Yanzhou then I shall not keep you any longer,”
Xie Wuling raised his eyelids slightly. “Your Majesty is letting me go just like that? Without even hosting a palace banquet to send me off?”
The emperor blinked, startled.
A minister asking the emperor for a farewell banquet, surely that was unprecedented.
Yet somehow, coming from Xie Wuling’s mouth, it sounded… perfectly reasonable.
After all, the man was bold and shameless.
“Of course, there must be a banquet,” Emperor Chunqing said.
“Then three days from now?” Xie Wuling suggested. “It’s an auspicious day, ideal for a farewell.”
The emperor didn’t mind. A banquet was a small matter, and Xie Wuling’s great military merits truly filled him with both joy and a touch of awe.
He knew Yan Wang intended to groom Xie Wuling as his successor. And he himself needed a capable young general to hold the northern border once the prince stepped down.
Yan Wang was of imperial blood, it was only right that he guarded the realm for the Sima clan.
But Xie Wuling was not of royal lineage. So the emperor could only entice him with rank and riches, treat him with the utmost courtesy, and make him feel the weight of imperial grace so that he would willingly fight for the empire.
With that goal in mind, the farewell banquet three days later was held on a grand scale.
All the imperial relatives and officials of third rank and above were invited to attend.
Inside the golden hall, silk and bamboo instruments played; dancers twirled gracefully. Amid the clinking of wine cups, laughter and cheerful voices filled the air.
All around the imperial city, however, under a moonless, wind-swept night, shadows loomed heavy. Between flashes of blades, blood spilled without end.
After seven years of peace, turmoil had once again erupted within the palace.
Because this coup took place in the Hall of Linde, it would later be recorded in history as the “Incident of Linde.”
According to The Chronicles of Liang:
On the twenty-ninth day of the third month in the fourth year of Chunqing, under the reign of Emperor Chunqing, Yan Wang Sima Yi, Wuan Marquis Xie Wuling, the late Crown Prince’s Grand Tutor Cui Xuanyi, and General Li Xinzhong of the Shenwu Army conspired to revolt during a palace banquet. They shattered a wine cup as the signal, enumerated eighty-one crimes committed by Emperor Chunqing including fratricide for the throne, framing the Crown Prince with witchcraft, coercing Chang Wang into rebellion, eliminating dissenters, and killing innocents, declaring him morally bankrupt and despised by Heaven and men alike, unfit to rule. They then surrounded Linde Hall with their troops and forced Emperor Chunqing to abdicate.
The soldiers of Yanbei army were men who had seen real blood on the frontier. Once their blades were drawn, a cold aura spread, murderous and sharp.
This time, Emperor Chunqing had no Pei Shouzhen to devise a way out for him. With a sword pressed against his neck, his face instantly drained of color.
At last, under the watchful gaze of Yan Wang, who had secretly infiltrated the palace, he trembled as he pressed the imperial jade seal onto the edict of abdication.
Yan Wang took the edict, glanced at it, and nodded in satisfaction.
Then he turned toward the nephew cowering in the corner, trembling uncontrollably. Clicking his tongue, he thought, how had Sima Rui sired such a useless son?
Sima Jin felt his heart jolt under that cold, cutting gaze. Shivering, he stammered, “Royal Uncle… if you wish to claim the throne, I am willing to yield. Just… please, spare my life…”
But Yan Wang had no desire to be emperor.
At his age, most of his peers were enjoying their twilight years surrounded by grandchildren, why would he exhaust himself ruling a nation?
Besides, he had no heirs. If he toiled for decades only to hand the empire over to someone else, wouldn’t that be sheer folly?
The only reason he had marched all the way to Chang’an to rebel was because his foolish, restless nephew had made a mess of things. Yan Wang feared that if things went on, the Sima family’s realm would one day truly be seized by the barbarians and then all his old comrades who had fought and bled beside him for half their lives would have died in vain.
If this emperor would not listen, then better to replace him with one who would.
It had been many years since Yan Wang last saw the former Crown Prince, now An Wang, Sima Yu.
He ordered Xie Wuling to personally go to Yongxing Lane and bring the prince, who had been confined there for four years, back to the palace.
Before Sima Yu arrived, an attendant came to report that Empress Dowager Yang requested an audience.
Empress Dowager Yang, Yang Yilan.
The same “Younger Sister Yilan” that Ah Jing had once mentioned.
An old acquaintance.
Yan Wang said, “Let her in.”
Before long, Empress Dowager Yang entered.
After nearly thirty years apart, the once-valiant young lord and a beautiful concubine had both become people of frosted temples and weary years.
She bowed to him, then, catching sight of her son’s ashen face, sighed quietly in her heart.
Looking back to Yan Wang, she said, “Your Highness, for the sake of old friendship, might you spare my son’s life?”
Yan Wang stroked his beard. “It’s not that I would deny you face, but this matter… you understand as well as I do.”
Empress Dowager Yang, a well-educated lady from a noble house, naturally knew that deposed emperors throughout history rarely met a good end.
But Sima Jin was her son.
A mother’s worry for her child lasts a lifetime, she could not simply do nothing.
She bowed deeply. “If you spare him, I will trade you a secret.”
Yan Wang raised an eyebrow, about to laugh, when she added, “It concerns Sister Fang.”
The smile froze on his face.
His rough fingertips rubbed absently at the scar on his palm. After a long silence, he said, “Speak.”
“Let’s see what sort of secret is worth a life.”
Once the attendants had withdrawn and only the two of them remained, Empress Dowager Yang finally said, “If the whereabouts of you and Sister Fang’s child are worth anything, would that be enough to buy my son’s life?”
Yan Wang’s face changed at once; his eyes grew sharp. “What did you just say?”
She met his gaze steadily. “Sister Fang’s second son, the one said to have died young, was not His Majesty’s child, but yours. Was he not?”
Yan Wang’s thick brows drew tight, relaxed, then furrowed again. “What nonsense are you spouting, when would I ever have—”
But the words caught in his throat.
A flicker of hesitation crossed his heart, followed by disbelief.
Could that afternoon so many years ago truly not have been a dream… but real?
Countless doubts flooded his mind. Yan Wang’s voice dropped, steady and low: “Make yourself clear.”
Empress Dowager Yang herself only knew that Xie Wuling was that very child but as to who the father was, she was not certain.
After all, back then, Fang Shujing had only asked her to send the baby away, never revealing the father’s name. She merely suspected Yan Wang — first, because of Xie Wuling’s looks; second, because of Jinhua’s fervent infatuation with Sima Yi; and third, because years ago, before Fang Shujing was betrothed to the emperor, there had been rumors she was nearly engaged to Yan Wang.
Because of these clues, when Xie Wuling was exiled years later, Empress Dowager Yang secretly ordered Emperor Chunqing to send him to Yanbei.
Since exile was unavoidable, if father and son shared a hidden bond and someday recognized each other, it would fulfill one of Fang Shujing’s regrets and perhaps earn her a favor from Yan Wang.
She had never imagined that favor would one day be used in such a way.
It filled her with both relief and regret.
Finally, she recounted the old story of the “switched prince.” At the end, she said, “The child was born full-term. But to the outside world, we claimed he was premature and frail, that he died soon after birth.
“He was sent away not long after but assassins pursued him. He drifted from place to place, and his trail was lost. Sister Fang and I both believed he had perished. She grieved herself sick, and before she died, she told me she owed that child an apology.
“Only… I never imagined that fate would spare him, that he truly survived.”
Empress Dowager Yang looked at Yan Wang. “Do you truly not know that you still have a child alive in this world?”
At those words, more fragments began to surface in Yan Wang’s mind.
Like the time he met her again after she’d lost her son, how he’d spoken words of comfort, and how her eyes had reddened as she looked at him, filled with a thousand unspoken things.
Like the day he left Chang’an—how Sima Rui had watched him drink the infertility draught, and the flash of satisfaction that had crossed that man’s brows.
So that day, not only had he left a bite mark on her palm… he’d also left behind a child.
His and Ah Jing’s child.
The realization sent heat rushing through his chest; a surge of fierce, almost giddy joy overwhelmed him. He stared hard at Empress Dowager Yang. “Where is my child now?”
Empress Dowager Yang replied, “Swear to spare my son’s life.”
Yan Wang saw no reason to refuse, besides, it was not the right time to kill an emperor anyway. “Very well. I promise.”
“I hope you will keep your word.”
She drew a long breath and said, “That child—four years ago, I placed him right before you.”
Yan Wang froze for a moment, then realization dawned. “You mean… that boy, Guian?”
Empress Dowager Yang nodded. “On his left shoulder is a crimson birthmark shaped like a qilin. Sister Fang named him Lin for that reason.”
As for how the boy later drifted to Jinling and came to be known as the son of a courtesan—too many years had passed, and even she could no longer trace the details.
She had only found out that the one who sent assassins after the child was Emperor Zhaoning.
And that birthmark on Xie Wuling’s shoulder, she had personally sent her matron to verify it in the water dungeon; it was real beyond any doubt.
“I held that baby myself when he was born. That mark, I remember it clearly. I could never mistake it.”
Empress Dowager Yang added, “If you do not believe me, when you next see him, you may check for yourself.”
But Yan Wang had no need.
He had already seen the birthmark on Xie Wuling’s shoulder. In the summer camps, when the soldiers trained bare-chested, he had seen it with his own eyes and even casually asked, “That mark, have you had it since birth?”
“Yes,” Xie Wuling had laughed carelessly. “Good thing it’s not on my face, or it’d ruin such a fine look, wouldn’t it?”
That boy…
Yan Wang’s heart trembled, and even his fingers shook.
After so many years on battlefields, wading through mountains of corpses and seas of blood, he had thought his heart long hardened to iron, that nothing could stir him again. Yet now, his throat burned, and his eyes stung as though he might cry.
So that boy… was his own flesh and blood.
Yan Wang, Sima Yi—lonely for most of his life—suddenly had a son. And that son was born of the woman he had loved.
This journey to Chang’an had not been in vain.
It pleased him more than ascending the throne ever could.
Empress Dowager Yang, seeing the barely contained joy on his face, felt a complex tangle of emotions rise within her.
Before taking her leave, she asked quietly, “And now that you have an heir… will you still be so ready to hand the throne to another?”
That single question pulled Yan Wang back from the euphoria of finding his long-lost son.
Without a son, he had no wish to be emperor.
But now that he had one, he naturally had to think of his son’s future.
So when Xie Wuling arrived at the palace leading An Wang Sima Yu inside, Yan Wang first called Xie Wuling into the inner room, leaving Sima Yu waiting outside.
“Godfather,” Xie Wuling said respectfully, “is there something you wish to instruct me?”
Yan Wang said nothing, only looked intently at that handsome young face before him.
So alike. Uncannily alike.
The more he looked, the more he saw it, they could have been carved from the same mold.
How had he never realized before… that this was his own son?
No wonder Ah Jing had sent the child away, he looked so much like him. If he had grown up in the palace, that old dog Sima Rui would have died of rage.
“Godfather?”
Xie Wuling felt uneasy under that burning gaze. “What’s wrong?”
Yan Wang came back to himself, suddenly a little awkward, and coughed. “The blood on your face, what happened? Were you hurt?”
“It’s nothing. I killed a few would-be assassins just now, must’ve splattered some blood.” Xie Wuling wiped at the smears on his face.
Yan Wang said, “Be careful. Don’t get yourself injured.”
Xie Wuling smiled. “I will.”
Then he fell silent, waiting for what his godfather would say next.
But after pacing a long while before the imperial desk, Yan Wang finally turned back and asked, “Guian… would you like to be emperor?”
Xie Wuling blinked. “…What?”
He froze, then quickly dropped to his knees. “Your son is loyal to you with all his heart, never would I harbor such ambition!”
Yan Wang, seeing his misunderstanding, stepped forward to lift him up. “That is not what I meant.”
Xie Wuling grew even more suspicious. For his godfather to personally help him up and speak so gently was utterly strange.
Had he caught some sort of fever?
“Godfather, if you wish to claim the throne, I will follow you through fire and blades without hesitation. If you wish to return to Yanbei, then your son…”
He hesitated, scratching his neck awkwardly. “Well… your son may not be able to go back with you. The Rong Di tribes are badly weakened, they won’t invade again for at least three to five years. I was thinking I might stay here a while… rest up a few years… But don’t worry, if there’s ever a call to arms, I’ll return at once!”
Yan Wang, of course, saw right through his little ploy.
So—still pining after that Shen girl, was he? Unwilling to leave her side.
He truly didn’t know what kind of woman she was, to make both Pei Shouzhen and his own son so infatuated.
Suppressing his curiosity for the time being, Yan Wang looked steadily at him and asked once more, “If I were to set you upon the throne, would you accept it?”
Xie Wuling’s heart jolted again, and he looked at Yan Wang in disbelief.
He tried to find some trace of emotion on that mature, time-worn face before him—
But there was none.
Yan Wang’s expression was solemn, his gaze steady, carrying a faint but unmistakable tenderness and affection.
Though Xie Wuling was puzzled, he didn’t overthink it. He said earnestly, “Thank you, godfather, for thinking so highly of me. But I haven’t read many books, nor have I learned any rites. Ruling an empire isn’t like planting rice or hunting in the mountains. I know my own limits, I’m just not cut out to be an emperor.”
Yan Wang replied, “No one is born knowing how to rule. You’re clever. With a good teacher to guide you, you could become a fine emperor.”
Even a mediocrity like Sima Jin managed it, how could his own son not?
But upon hearing this, Xie Wuling’s face clouded with a pained expression.
“Please, godfather, spare me. I know jade must be polished to shine, and a man must study to amount to something. If not for Commander Huo and your own careful teaching and cultivation, I might never have had the ability to command an army today.”
He tugged at the corner of his lips in a weary smile. “But to tell you the truth, these years have been hard. I wake earlier than the roosters and sleep later than the dogs, running through wind and rain, sweating and bleeding, with my head practically hanging from my belt. Always on edge, afraid one slip would leave me dead under an enemy’s blade. It’s been… exhausting. Sometimes I think—living like this, what’s the point?”
Yet every time he thought of giving up, the image of Shen Yujiao’s smiling eyes would flash in his mind.
Like moonlight brushing across his face, his wounds stopped hurting, strength filled his body again, and he’d grit his teeth, stand up, and keep fighting.
Now, after all these years, he’d finally made something of himself, kicked the emperor off his throne, even outlasted Pei Shouzhen by some twist of fate and now they wanted him to study governance and rule the world with diligence?
“Godfather, just take me for a man with no ambition.”
Xie Wuling rubbed his nose and muttered, “I don’t have Pei Shouzhen’s grand ideals of serving the nation and its people. I just want to marry a wife, have a few children, live a steady, lively life with my family, clothes to wear, food to eat, the ability to protect my wife and kids from harm. That’s enough for me.”
Yan Wang’s brows furrowed deeply.
Indeed, it wasn’t much of an ambition—
But it was the simplest, most genuine wish shared by most people in this world.
That old dog Sima Rui had been emperor for decades yet if one were to drag him back from the underworld and ask if he’d lived a happy life, the answer would likely be no.
Human hearts are greedy: they crave both supreme power and the warmth of ordinary life. But how could one have both?
Yan Wang was filled with mixed emotions. Finally, he fixed his gaze on Xie Wuling again and asked, “If you were ruler of the world, you could have any woman you want. And yet, you’d give up the throne for a widow, one who’s been married and has a child? You truly have no regrets?”
Xie Wuling lifted his eyes and met the prince’s gaze. “I heard from the uncles of Yanbei that you, godfather, never took a wife because there’s already someone in your heart. Forgive me for asking but if you had to choose between that lady and the throne, which would you choose?”
Yan Wang froze.
Under the flickering candlelight, he looked at that face so much like his own, yet with traces of Fang Shujing and it was as if he had gone back in time.
She had once asked him: “Sima Jinghuai, do you have no regrets?”
He had answered, “None.”
Now that same question had come full circle, returning to the child born of them both.
Yan Wang let out a breath that was half laugh, half growl. “Who’s the b*stard gossiping about me in front of you?”
Xie Wuling grinned. “Just me being nosy, godfather, don’t be angry.”
Yan Wang snorted and gave him a sidelong look. “Even if Pei Shouzhen is gone, you’re so sure that Shen girl will come with you?”
“That’s not my concern,” Xie Wuling said lightly. “A persistent man can win any woman’s heart. If I could make her fall for me once, I can do it again, given time.”
After all, Pei Shouzhen had also spent three years winning Jiaojiao’s heart.
If Pei Shouzhen could do it, so could he.
Three years, ten years, thirty, fifty—he had all the time in the world.
“Enough,” said Yan Wang, seeing that his mind was made up. He sighed deeply, turned with his hands clasped behind his back, and said, “Bring in An Wang.”
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