I was planning to save this for the new website, but the new website will take a bit longer to finish 
Lizhu had been cowardly her whole life, yet before dying, she did something that shook Luoyang.
This matter should not have gone unnoticed.
From the moment the materials were transported into Luoyang, to the entry of the fangshi into the palace, and finally to the execution within the Hall of Jiade, there were countless opportunities for leaks along the way. Yet until the incident occurred, everything proceeded smoothly, without the slightest obstruction.
Empress Dowager Tan and the Young Emperor Shen Fu, even at the moment of death, could not believe she was capable of such a thing.
But Lizhu had not acted on sudden impulse.
Looking back on her life, compared to those former princesses of the Yong Dynasty who once held power and could summon wind and rain at will, Lizhu, as the Princess of Qinghe, had lived a truly stifled life.
Her birth mother, once a laundry maid, had been elevated to Empress and came to dominate the inner palace.
Unfortunately, she passed away when Lizhu was five years old.
Her father, out of affection for the mother, bestowed upon her two fiefs, showering her with favor even beyond that of her half-brother.
Unfortunately, in those turbulent times, even the Son of Heaven had to rely on noble clans to maintain his foothold in Luoyang—how could she possibly act as she pleased?
Her father’s favor instead brought her endless trouble.
The succeeding Empress regarded her as a thorn in the eye.
Her younger brother Shen Fu treated her as a mortal enemy.
Thus, upon ascending the throne, Shen Fu could not wait to send her away in a political marriage. To marry her off to the fifty-year-old Chanyu of the Wuhuan, in exchange for peace along the southern borders of Yong.
When Lizhu heard of this, she was so furious she buried herself under the quilt and wept bitterly.
Why should she!
The meritorious nobles, bloated with privilege, had hollowed out the very flesh and blood of Nanyong’s court. Why should she be the one to patch the hole?
Because she was a princess of Nanyong?
Then why could useless ministers enjoy their splendor in peace, while an incompetent Son of Heaven still sat high in the Bright Hall?
She refused to accept it!
If not for Pei Yinzhi personally leading the campaign at the frontier, forcing the Beiyue army to retreat beyond the Shrine of the Divine Maiden and rescuing Nanyong from peril, Lizhu might have already carried out that thought of mutual destruction back then.
But now was not too late either.
On the day she died, the third day of the eleventh month of the yiyou year, it was the third anniversary of her husband Pei Yinzhi’s death, and his memorial day.
The Beiyue army, which once dared not even step foot into the Shrine of the Divine Maiden, now advanced with unstoppable momentum all the way to the gates of Luoyang.
Amidst the whirling snow, Shen Fu held the imperial seal in his hands and surrendered outside the South Palace’s Duan Gate, trading the realm of Nanyong for a princely title under the Beiyue.
The Emperor of Beiyue rejoiced greatly. After receiving the imperial seal, he inquired where the Princess Royal of Qinghe now was.
All the ministers and nobles knelt in the snow, a field of silence, none daring to speak.
Everyone knew that once Lizhu fell into his hands, she would meet no good end.
Because her second husband had been Pei Yinzhi.
The Pei clan of Yiling—its ancestors had once served as Governors of Yiling. They had held official posts for generations, but after several successions, the family had long since declined into obscurity, until, as if smoke suddenly rose from the ancestral tomb, there appeared a man like Pei Yinzhi.
Though he was a civil official, he went to the frontier three times in his life.
The first time, he shattered Beiyue’s dream of crossing south, and was granted marriage to the Princess of Qinghe.
The second time, he captured three cities in the northern territories, annihilating thirty thousand Wuhuan troops allied with Beiyue.
The third time, with forty thousand soldiers, he utterly defeated Beiyue’s army of one hundred thousand, and then personally led fifty elite horsemen deep into the north, driving the Beiyue general, who had thought himself safely escaped, into panic so great that he fell from his horse and died on the spot.
If not for the relapse of Pei Yinzhi’s old illness and his death soon after, the eleven northern prefectures would have been almost within his grasp.
How could the Emperor of Beiyue not both fear and hate him?
Even if Pei Yinzhi was dead, his wife remained alive. How could he possibly let her go so easily?
Lizhu understood this well.
Therefore, she did not flee.
She simply had not expected that before seeing the Emperor of Beiyue, she would first meet her former husband—the Empress Dowager Tan’s nephew, Tan Xun.
•—–٠✤٠—–•·
“The rebel army will soon enter the city, Lizhu, come with me. As long as I still draw breath, I will never let you be humiliated.”
Outside the Hall of Jiade drifted the sobbing cries of ministers and nobles.
Inside the hall, vast and empty, the woman seated before the desk paused her grinding of ink and lifted her head.
Before Lizhu stood a tall, refined nobleman.
He had clearly come in haste, his temples slightly disheveled, yet as he stood within the hall, he remained as upright as a pine beneath the wind, bearing the air of distinction befitting a son of the renowned Tan clan of the Six Dynasties.
But at this moment, seeing him, hearing his words, Lizhu felt no stir of emotion—only absurdity.
“Now you come to tell me this?”
Lizhu set down her brush. Her eyes, black and white distinct, fixed on him for a long time before she said:
“Tan Yuhui, have you forgotten why you and I divorced in the first place?”
She had married him at nineteen.
The marriage had not been of her own will. But she and Tan Xun had known each other since childhood. Their union had been partly for political necessity, and partly because, at the time, Tan Xun indeed appeared to be a suitable match.
After marriage, theirs could not be called a passionate affection, but it could at least be termed respectful and courteous.
Lizhu had never once put on the airs of a princess toward him, and as a wife, she had never failed in her duties.
Later, when Empress Dowager Tan restricted the Princess’s residence and her mother-in-law, relying on the Empress Dowager’s power, often disrespected her, Lizhu had never turned her resentment toward the Tan family upon him.
And what did Tan Xun do?
In the second year of their marriage, he fell for another woman. He even proposed taking a concubine!
He had humiliated her so deeply, how could he now dare to speak such righteous-sounding words?
“Of course I haven’t forgotten!”
Tan Xun stepped forward and seized her wrist tightly, speaking in urgent defense:
“You and I divorced because of Pei Yinzhi’s scheming and manipulation. He tore you away from me by force, how could I ever forget! Lizhu, there’s no time left. I’ll explain everything to you slowly later, but right now, you must come with me!”
What was he saying?
Outside the hall, the wind and snow, together with the wailing of the officials, battered against the doors.
Lizhu’s expression showed confusion, which quickly turned to anger.
“Let me go! What right do you have to take me away! Even if you could take me out of Luoyang today, where could we possibly flee to? The world will soon belong to the Beiyue, do you think there is still a place for me to exist?”
“Today marks the end of the Nanyong court, and it should also be the end of a Nanyong princess. I will not run. If my husband were still here, he would not run either. Tan Xun, you and I were a mistake—an ill-fated bond. We were never meant to walk the same path. There’s no need for you to throw away your life for me. Go.”
Tan Xun’s entire body trembled.
While he was momentarily stunned, Lizhu viciously kicked him.
He did not fall, only staggered, knocking over the candle stand beside him.
Lamp oil spilled across the blue stone floor; flames licked outward, and in an instant, the small sea of fire ignited the memorial text Lizhu had just finished writing.
As he watched the ashes rise, anger flared on Tan Xun’s face.
“Lizhu, do you really think you and Pei Yinzhi were on the same side? Do you really think he ever showed you his true face?”
He suddenly seized both her shoulders, eyes bloodshot as he shouted:
“You don’t understand him at all! You’ve never seen that wolf-hearted, ruthless face of his! Lizhu, you’re too naive—you have no idea how someone of his background could ever climb to stand before you, how many filthy means he used! You don’t even know, he’s not even—”
From the long steps outside came the sound of synchronized marching.
The Beiyue army was approaching.
“Not a single word from your mouth will I believe.”
The princess, her hair disheveled, held back her tears; her gaze shone brighter than the firelight.
“But since you speak so righteously, then come with me to the Yellow Springs, and once we meet him, we’ll see who’s right.”
Tan Xun’s brow twitched.
In the air, the acrid smell grew heavier and heavier. A foreboding sense crawled through his chest.
Just as the doors of the Hall of Jiade were kicked open—
Boom—!!!
The Emperor of Beiyue, standing at the front, bore the brunt of the blast. Behind him, his guards—and at the end of the line, Emperor Xining and the Empress Dowager Qinbwere not spared either.
The grand hall collapsed, flames soaring to the sky.
Heroes and gentlemen, emperor and empress dowager—all perished together in the thunderous explosion of gunpowder.
Perished at the hands of the weak princess they had looked down upon.
•—–٠✤٠—–•·
The smell of saltpeter and sulfur had been Lizhu’s most familiar scent since childhood.
In her youth, many Daoist priests came and went in the palace. They offered Emperor Mingzhao “immortal elixirs,” deceiving him into believing that by taking them, he could live forever, reunite with the late empress in the Celestial Capital, and never again be parted.
Lizhu had never believed them. Yet today, amid the smoke and flames, she seemed to glimpse familiar figures within the blaze.
“Princess, the night is late. Allow this servant to return home to change clothes.”
“Your Highness need not worry. As long as the blood of the soldiers before the Shrine of the Divine Maiden remains warm, the fate of a nation will never be entrusted beneath a woman’s skirts.”
“It is a minister’s duty to share the burdens of the court, no reward is needed. But if His Majesty insists on granting favor, then according to Yong custom, please confer the title of Princess Royal upon your elder sister.”
At the moment of death, Lizhu felt no pain, only exhaustion.
In her entire life, the only time she had ever felt at ease were those three short years she was married to Pei Yinzhi.
Since his death, every single day had been a struggle.
Even now, having slain her enemies and gained her long-desired vengeance, she felt only a brief flicker of satisfaction. Once it faded, there remained only the emptiness that follows the settling of grudges.
She wanted to sleep, just once, peacefully.
The bamboo slips covered in her written memorial burned into drifting ash, scattering through the skies above Luoyang.
「Since my lord has died for me, for whom should I live alone?」
「If joy yet pities me, open the coffin for my sake.」
She closed her eyes. The scent of saltpeter and sulfur gradually faded away.
Yet mingled with it came the faint fragrance of palace incense—growing stronger and stronger, stirring memories from her youth.
It was the incense most often used by her father when he still lived.
Her father, the fifteenth emperor of the Yong Dynasty.
He had reigned as a wise and virtuous ruler for eight years, yet in the ninth, his path took a sharp turn: he began seeking immortality, trusting eunuchs and sycophants, and from then on could never return from the road of a deluded sovereign.
At the age of ten, just after learning how to compose remonstrations, Lizhu had written two full bamboo scrolls in bold strokes.
Furious, she had presented them to Emperor Mingzhao, fiercely condemning the dangers of empowering eunuchs.
But he merely patted her head, smiling kindly, praising her handwriting as possessing the style of her grandfather, saying that she would one day become a great calligrapher.
To this day, Emperor Mingzhao had always regarded her admonitions as the childish chatter of a little girl—never taking them to heart.
He had not been a wise ruler.
But perhaps he had been a loving father.
…Yet the Hall of Jiade had already been destroyed. Her father had been dead for many years. How could she suddenly smell this scent upon the brink of death!?
Lizhu’s eyes flew open.
“—Lin’er, why have you come? Have you finally forgiven your father? No longer angry at those Daoist masters?”
No ruined palace.
No saltpeter or sulfur, no armor or blades.
Within the Hall of Yutang, warm incense curled gently through the air.
Before her sat a man nearing forty, bare-footed and loose-robed, his chest uncovered, a black-lotus crown upon his head. He looked nothing like an emperor, more like an immortal hermit.
Emperor Mingzhao smiled and beckoned to her.
“Your father has already ordered those Daoist masters to amend their prescriptions, no more blood will be taken for the elixirs each month. So now surely… Lin’er, why are you still crying?”
Lizhu stared blankly at the man before her, as though she were trapped inside a dream.
But this was no dream.
If she remembered correctly, the matter of drawing blood for alchemy—refining elixirs through blood—had taken place in the nineteenth year of Emperor Mingzhao’s reign.
It had not been a trivial incident; she had quarreled fiercely with Emperor Mingzhao over it, and the aftermath had stirred up many disputes. She remembered it vividly.
That year, she had been sixteen.
From the doorway of the Hall of Yutang, Lizhu gazed outward—her eyes passed beyond the Hall of Jiade and the Duan Gate, finally settling upon the Twenty-Four Streets beneath the clear sky.
Luoyang had long been at peace; its people no longer knew war.
Except for her, no one knew that eleven years later, Nanyong would fall.
Lizhu suddenly came to her senses.
She should not remain here.
She had to go to Yiling Commandery, to meet the nineteen-year-old Pei Yinzhi who lived there now.
___
Translator’s Note:
Tan Xun, Tan Yuhui is the same person. In traditional Chinese culture especially among scholars, nobles, and officials—people often had two names: a formal name and a courtesy name.