Jianyuan Era, Year 1. The 15th Day of the 12th Month. Chang'an.
Snow had fallen for three days and three nights; Chang'an City was as white as a graveyard. The snow on the palace walls was half a foot thick. Icicles hung down from the eaves, over a foot long, clinking in the wind like someone hammering iron sheets in the distance. Charcoal fires burned in the workshop, the coals spitting white mist that condensed into a lump at the door, refusing to disperse. But it was still cold.
I sat at the work table, a silk scroll spread before me—a military report from the Northern Frontier. The corners of the scroll were frozen hard as a blade's edge; pressing my fingertips against it, the cold seeped in through the nail beds.
The Xiongnu had retreated, but not truly. Scouts reported they were gathering at the northern foot of the Yin Mountains; their horses were thirty percent more numerous than usual, and their grain stores double. They were waiting. Waiting for the river to freeze solid, for our soldiers to stiffen with cold, for a moment to bite down. I stroked the characters on the scroll, fingertips cold as snowmelt. Who would break first? Us, or them?
When Liu Che walked in, he was covered in snow. He shook his shoulders, and snow cascaded down, melting into a puddle on the floor. His face was frozen white, lips bloodless, but his eyes were bright. He had been with the Northern Army for seven days, returning only today. He hadn't even had time to remove his armor, coming straight to the workshop. Cold radiated from him like a stone statue just dug out of the snow. Mud and ice shards clung to his boot soles, crunching on the stone floor.
"Xingye."
"Mm."
"The Xiongnu scouts have crossed the Great Wall."
My hand paused. The cinnabar at the tip of my brush bled into the scroll, a small patch of red like blood. "Crossed the Great Wall?"
"Yes. Not to fight. To look. To see how many defenders we have, where our grain is, to see—" He paused, his Adam's apple rolling, "to see if we are afraid."
He didn't speak. I stood up and walked to him. Snow water dripped from his armor, drop by drop, like a water clock, like a heartbeat. He stood there, back straight, but I saw the dark circles under his eyes. Seven days without sleep. Mud was packed in the crevices of the armor; a worn patch at the collar revealed the cotton padding underneath.
"You are not afraid," I said.
"How do you know?"
"Because you came back. Those who are afraid do not return."
He looked at me for a long time. The charcoal fire in the workshop jumped,pi-pa. His eyes held fire, snow, and the wind and frost of those seven days. Then he smiled. Faint, genuine.
"Xingye."
"Mm."
"I want to go to the Northern Frontier."
My heart skipped a beat. Not that I didn't expect this day. From the moment he said "fight next spring," I knew he would go. Not waiting in Chang'an for reports, but going personally. But hearing him say it, my chest still felt struck by something. Not pain, but something heavier, weightier. I raised my head, looking into his eyes. They held fire, steel, and the loneliness of an emperor.
"When?"
"Spring. As soon as the snow melts."
I lowered my head, looking at my hands. Hands that had repaired artifacts for five years, hands steady enough to hold countless fragments. These hands could fix copper mirrors, piece together shards, spot flaws in silk scrolls. But could I send him away? I didn't know. My fingertips still held the cold from pressing the scroll, seeping into the bone seams.
"How long?"
"I don't know. Maybe a few months, maybe a year."
I was silent for a long time. The snow outside continued to fall, rustling like something quietly sharpening a blade. An icicle under the eaves snapped, falling to the ground and shattering with ading.
"Then finish what needs to be done before you leave."
"What needs to be done?"
"Arrange the court affairs. Handle matters with the Empress Dowager. Hand over—" I raised my head, looking into his eyes, "everything I can guard while you are gone, to me."
He looked at me for a long time. Then he reached out, taking my hand. His hand was cold, the snow water on the armor not yet dry, fingertips red from the freeze. But the hand was steady.
"Xingye."
"Mm."
"Are you afraid?"
"Yes."
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid you won't come back."
He paused. Then he pulled me into his arms. The armor was cold, digging into me painfully, the iron plates pressing against my cheek, numbingly icy. But his hand was hot, on my back, tight.
"I will come back," he said.
Jianyuan Era, Year 1. The 20th Day of the 12th Month. Court Assembly.
Liu Che sat on the Dragon Throne in ceremonial robes, the twelve-string crown. I sat by his side in the Empress's礼服. The atmosphere in the hall was different from before. Before it was probing; today, it was—decision. Attendants held tablets on both sides, Feather Forest guards stood at the hall doors, golden drums hung under the corridor, not yet struck, but everyone knew today a matter would be settled. The Son of Heaven leading the expedition personally.
"Issue the edict." Liu Che's voice echoed in the hall. "Next spring, I will personally lead a great army to attack the Xiongnu in the north."
The hall fell silent for a moment. Silent enough to hear the snow sliding off the golden drums, a softpu. Then it exploded.
"Your Majesty, it is unadvisable—"
"Your Majesty is of noble body—"
"Your Majesty—"
He raised his hand. The movement was light, but everyone fell silent. The jade beads swayed gently before him, the sound of jade clinking light as wind chimes.
"My mind is made up." His voice was flat, like a frozen river surface. "Court dismissed."
The courtiers retreated. The sound of boots on stone slabs grew distant; only he and I remained in the hall. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. The jade beads hung before his forehead, swaying gently.
"Xingye."
"Mm."
"Do you know why they object?"
"I know. It's not fear you won't win. It's fear that if you leave, no one can hold the court."
He opened his eyes, looking at me. "Then do you think, if I leave, you can hold it?"
I looked into his eyes. They held fire, steel, and the loneliness of an emperor. And fear. A deep, deep fear hidden for who knows how many years. But he did not retreat. My heart first trembled, then ignited with the same resolve.
"I can hold it," I said.
He looked at me for a long time. Then he smiled.
"I know."
Jianyuan Era, Year 1. The 25th Day of the 12th Month. Changle Palace.
Empress Dowager Dou was ill. Not the "claiming illness" kind, but truly ill. The Imperial Physician said it was wind-chill entering the bones, combined with age and decline; he feared— He didn't finish, but everyone understood. His head was bowed low, almost touching his chest. I stood at the door, looking at the old woman on the couch. Her face had thinned greatly, cheekbones protruding, eye sockets sunken. Her hair was entirely white, scattered on the pillow like a handful of snow. She wore a plain dark robe, draped in a light gauze, as if to hide the wind-chill and the years, but it couldn't hide it.
She saw me, the corner of her mouth moving slightly.
"You came?"
"I came."
"Come here."
I walked over, standing before the couch. She looked at me for a long time. Her eyes were still bright, but beneath that brightness was gray. Like the last piece of charcoal burning out, red, but about to extinguish. She reached out, her fingertips clutching my lapel, very light, as if afraid to crush something.
"Che-er is going to the Northern Frontier?"
"Yes."
"Did you let him go?"
"He wants to go himself."
She was silent for a moment. Her gaze shifted from my face to the window. The snow outside had stopped; a line of gray-white hung in the sky. Then she smiled. Very light, very faint.
"He is like his father. His father also wanted to go back then. But his health failed, he couldn't go. He left this wish to his son."
She closed her eyes. The candle flame in the hall jumped, her shadow wavering on the wall. Her hand still clutched my lapel, not letting go.
"Empress."
"Empress Dowager."
"Do you know why I yield to you?"
"I do not know."
"Because you do not compete," she opened her eyes, looking at me. "You do not fight or grab, do not argue or make noise, but everyone listens to you. I have competed all my life, struggled all my life, and in the end—" She paused, the corner of her mouth moving, "in the end, I am not as good as you."
I looked into her eyes. Those eyes held exhaustion, unwillingness, and something indefinable. But no hatred.
"Empress Dowager, it is not that I do not compete. It is that I do not need to."
She looked at me for a long time. Then she smiled. That smile spread from the corners of her mouth to her eyes, deepening the wrinkles. Beneath it were tears that did not fall.
"You are right." Her voice was light, like wind blowing through ash. "Leaving him to you, I am at ease."
She released her hand, closing her eyes. Her breathing slowly steadied. I stood before the couch, watching her. The candle flame danced on her face, illuminating it in patches of light and dark. She was old. Truly old.
Jianyuan Era, Year 1. The 30th Day of the 12th Month. Year's End.
The sound of firecrackers in Chang'an City had been ringing since dusk,pi-pi-pa-pa, nonstop. Liu Che was reviewing memorials in Xuanshi Hall, working very late. I sat by his side, grinding ink for him. The ink stick turned on the inkstone, round and round, making a fine sound. His hand was steady, every stroke carved like a knife. But when he reached the last scroll, he stopped. The brush hovered in mid-air, ink gathering at the tip, about to drip.
"Xingye."
"Mm."
"Tomorrow is the New Year."
"Mm."
"By this time next year, I may not be in Chang'an."
I said nothing. He put down the brush, turning to look at me. Candlelight danced in his eyes, illuminating his face brightly. Outside, another round of firecrackers sounded, the firelight flashing on the window paper. The hall was quiet, quiet enough to hear the wick cracking.
"Xingye, if I don't come back—"
"You will," I interrupted him.
"What if I don't?"
I looked into his eyes. They held fire, steel, and the loneliness of an emperor. And fear. A deep, deep fear hidden for who knows how many years. I reached out, taking his hand. His hand was cold, fingertips stained with ink.
"Then I will keep walking," I said.
He paused. "What are you saying?"
"I say, if you don't come back, I will keep walking. Guard this empire for you. Finish what needs to be done for you. Drive the Xiongnu back for you. Make Great Han stronger for you."
I looked at him.
"But you will come back."
He looked at me for a long time. The candle flame jumped, his shadow wavering on the wall. Then he smiled. Low, light, like wind blowing through a candle flame. He reached out, gently blowing out the lamp on the desk that was nearly burnt out. The hall darkened for an instant, leaving only the distant firecracker flashes outside the window, flashing on and off, carrying the lingering rhythm of steppe wolf smoke.
"Xingye."
"Mm."
"Do you know, sometimes I feel you are a gift from Heaven to me."
"Why?"
"Because you never say 'don't go'."
Outside, another round of firecrackers sounded. Jianyuan Year 1 had passed. Jianyuan Year 2 was coming. When spring came, he would leave. But at this moment, his hand was hot, holding mine, tight.
[End of Chapter 36]