When Consort Yan woke, her pillow was damp. She touched the corners of her eyes, where wrinkles had already begun to show, and stared quietly at the ceiling for a while. Hanging from the canopy were a swallow and a sparrow, woven from three-colored threads.
The swallow had been made by Xin Jing; the sparrow had been woven by Xin Li.
Consort Yan rose, but there was no mirror before her as she dressed. Ever since Xin Jing’s passing, she had never looked into a mirror again. This fragile, beautiful woman loathed time and detested the heavens; she entrusted her aging only to her own awareness, stubborn enough to refuse anyone else the chance to peer into her suffering.
Her softness and tenderness had been given entirely to her husband and sons. All that remained for outsiders were hard, sharp thorns.
Once her makeup was finished, she touched her hair, and Auntie Ying quietly presented a jewelry box. This was no ordinary box; inside were pieces of jewelry given to her by the men of the Prince of Yan’s manor. Every piece represented a sentiment and a smile; every piece held extraordinary meaning for her.
Today, she chose a jade hairpin carved with a flying swallow, a gift from Xin Li. She carefully tucked it into her hair, then stood up, allowing Auntie Ying to straighten the sleeves of her formal robes. She wore the official attire of a Princess Consort, looking dignified and elegant.
When she was ready, Auntie Ying supported her arm, and she stepped out the door.
Standing below the steps were her two remaining sons. On another set of steps stood the husband who had been her lifelong support.
Prince Yan was also in full formal attire, standing on the steps as if lost in thought. Consort Yan looked at him, thinking how quickly time had passed. Her entire life had been spent walking hand-in-hand with this man, yet in a mere heartbeat, his hair had turned white.
He was still in the prime of his life.
Prince Yan did not wait for her on the steps but walked down to meet her. Auntie Ying stepped back, and Consort Yan took Prince Yan’s arm. He covered her hand with his own; the two shared a smile and walked forward together in silence.
Outside, countless people were waiting. Consort Yan had to hold her head high, showing no trace of sorrow, and tell the envoys from the capital with grace and poise:
*My son, Xin Li, did indeed perish at Rouhui. It was not for the private ambitions of the Shanyin lords; he died in battle, for the Great Lan, for Beiyang, and for his oath as a general. He died on the battlefield.*
But as she stood on the high steps, looking down at the inscrutable Prince Ping and the gloating envoys from the capital, she no longer wished to say those things.
What talk of righteousness could one have with people who placed personal desire and the struggle for profit above the safety of the nation?
“The ambition of Dayuan,” Consort Yan began, supported by Prince Yan, her gaze sweeping over the crowd below, the army behind them, and the wolf flags atop the high walls. Her voice was slow and steady. “They plot against our nation’s territory, striking Rouhui and raiding our borders. We of Beiyang live to defend the country and die to guard its frontiers. Three hundred thousand live as the Great Lan’s line of defense; three hundred thousand die as the Great Lan’s military soul. We swear our loyalty and give our all. Our army pacified the northern chaos, crossed the Wild Mountains, and reached Wanze. The Lion King holds Canaan, and though I have lost two sons, the vow remains.” She paused, her voice suddenly rising, each word ringing with power. “The one who breaks Jianan in the days to come shall surely be a son of the Xin family of Beiyang!”
*The one who breaks Jianan in the days to come.*
*Shall surely be a son of the Xin family of Beiyang!*
Though two sons were dead, the armies scattered, and the villains sought to wound them, she still stood tall and upright to make this vow. The Xin family of Beiyang lived to garrison the borders and died to protect the state. Even if she and her husband were to perish, as long as one son remained, he would surely break Jianan!
“Well said,” Prince Yan whispered in her ear, his fingers interlaced with hers, his eyes downcast and gentle. “Acting like this, you make people both respect and envy you.”
“My husband is the Prince of Yan of Beiyang,” Consort Yan replied softly in his ear. “And you act in a way that makes people both honor and revere you. As your wife, I dare not be unsightly.”
The two smiled at each other, a thousand words left unspoken in their eyes.
Two years later, the tide of war at the border began to turn. Just as Consort Yan had vowed that day, Xin Jing suddenly crossed the Wild Mountains, pressing forward all the way, driving the thirty-two tribes of Dayuan northward in a pathetic retreat toward the northern glaciers.
They were almost at Wanze. Once Mount Jianan was broken, Dayuan would be a fallen nation, erased from existence.
It was at this time that people from the capital arrived once more. This time, they brought an edict from the Empress Dowager, summoning Consort Yan to the palace to keep her company.
It was clear. If Xin Jing broke Mount Jianan and defeated Dayuan, the prestige of the Prince of Yan would soar even higher, and with heavy troops in his hand, he would be a source of great anxiety. Only by having Consort Yan in the palace could they feel somewhat at ease.
So, Consort Yan went.
This stay lasted from the beginning of the fifty-third year until the onset of winter. During this period, Xin Jing’s offensive was unstoppable; he wiped out two tribes in succession and led his troops in a northward pursuit.
The Emperor would occasionally see Consort Yan at the Empress Dowager’s quarters, offering only a few lukewarm words of concern. Aside from the Crown Princess, the Consort of Prince Qin also frequently entered the palace to play chess and chat with Consort Yan.
When winter arrived, Consort of Prince Qin even brought the Heir of Prince Qin with her.
The child was the same age as Xin Yi and was quite handsome. He was well-loved by the Emperor and the Empress Dowager, and he possessed a certain fearless arrogance.
His name was Xin Wen.
When Xin Wen saw Consort Yan, he performed his salutations and greetings, acting charming in every way, causing the Empress Dowager to hold him in her arms with doting affection. Since he was about the same age as Xin Yi, Consort Yan naturally looked at him a bit more out of longing for her own son.
Taking advantage of the moment when everyone was laughing and talking, he asked Consort Yan, “Why is Auntie looking at me?”
“You are charming,” Consort Yan said, placing a piece of food in his bowl.
He looked down at it and flashed a smile. “How does Auntie dare to give me food?” He was like a little monster revealing its tail. “I am very afraid of death; I don’t want to eat Auntie’s ‘missing-my-son’ food.”
“At such a young age,” Consort Yan turned her head and gave him a gentle smile, “you actually have such a wicked heart.”
Xin Wen picked up his chopsticks and shot her a sideways glance. “Speaking like that, no wonder His Majesty dislikes you.” He added, “But His Majesty likes me very much. Whatever His Majesty says, I shall do.”
“And what does His Majesty want you to do?”
Xin Wen picked up the food she had given him and put it in his mouth. Scarcely a moment after he swallowed, Xin Wen suddenly began to wail. He collapsed onto the table, crying in agony. The Consort of Prince Qin, not knowing why, frantically pulled him into her arms.
Xin Wen was sweating from the pain, crying out, “Mother, save Wen’er!”
The word “save” was significant; one only needed saving if they had been poisoned.
The Empress Dowager ordered everyone’s mouths to be sealed, and the palace attendants took Consort Yan into custody for interrogation. The Empress Dowager called her a “poisonous woman” three times in a row, showing her immense fury. Although the Consort of Prince Qin’s son had been harmed, she hesitated, unwilling to fix the blame. But it was not up to her feminine mercy; the Emperor’s eunuchs determined that the poison had been administered by Consort Yan. The investigation was swift; in less than three days, Consort Yan had been sentenced to death.
The Beiyang army was fighting a bloody battle at the front; the hearts of the generals could not be wounded. The Emperor showed mercy, changing the sentence from beheading to the white silk cord.
From beginning to end, Consort Yan never defended herself, never bent her back, and never made a scene. The moment the white silk was presented, she slowly slid a jade bracelet onto her wrist.
“My husband,” she said gently to the sobbing Auntie Ying, “has poor taste; he could never pick out jewelry I liked. Only this bracelet—he went and learned how to grind it himself. Though it is crude, it is beautiful. I am very happy, I like it very much.”
Auntie Ying knelt and clutched the hem of her skirt, wailing, “Your Highness, pay no mind to these filthy people! This servant is untalented and has only her flesh and blood, but I am willing to take Your Highness and fight our way out of this den of wolves and tigers!”
“What foolish talk,” Consort Yan said, stroking Auntie Ying’s hair softly. “This palace is layered with walls inside and out. Even standing on the western tower, I cannot see the way out. You silly girl, how could you take me out?”
Auntie Ying struck her head against the ground in agony, the thuds echoing. She hissed, “How did it come to this! How did it come to this! Our Beiyang has been loyal for generations! Loyal for generations!”
“Beiyang is loyal to the state,” Consort Yan stood up and walked toward the eunuch, whispering, “Loyal to the people and the nation, not to the vermin of the court.” Then, she spoke to the eunuch with a polite yet unmistakably regal air: “Eunuch, bring a cup of wine instead. My husband and sons are brave on the battlefield; as a wife and mother, I should toast them.”
The eunuch silently withdrew the white silk and brought wine. Consort Yan took the cup and turned to smile at Auntie Ying.
“Auntie, it has been my fortune to have your support in this life. Thank you.”
She tilted her head and drained the cup in one gulp. Facing the north, she raised the empty cup and called out:
“Zhensheng, do not wait long at the Yellow Springs. In the next life, in the cycle of reincarnation, I wish to be your wife once more.”
*Xiao Jing and A-Li, your mother is weak and does not dare to linger in this world. You have waited long below; Mother is coming.*
Prince Yan’s blade suddenly rusted.
He bent over to wipe away the rust, but it cut his hand.
The snow of the New Year’s Eve fell upon his royal cloak; the stitches sewn by his wife pressed closely against his shoulder. He thought this night would be hard to endure, for he had never been separated from his wife on New Year’s Eve. Feeling guilty, his heart grew lonely.
Suddenly, a horse galloped frantically toward the wall.
The rider shouted at the top of his lungs: “Urgent report from the capital! Consort Yan, née Ming, has died suddenly! All Beiyang forces, send someone immediately to bring her back!”
Prince Yan’s blade had rusted.
It was even stained with blood.
He leaned against the battlements in the freezing gale, suddenly coughing violently until his body doubled over. His forehead pressed against the icy wall as he slid down.
“Ah.”
Prince Yan let out a low, raspy hiss: “In the end... how did it come to this?”
*You and I share the same roots.*
*I have given my heart and soul to you for years.*
*I have been self-disciplined and cautious.*
*I have served as a Prince and remained loyal to the state.*
*How did it come to this?*
*You cut off my sons, kill my wife, and force my heart.*
*You want me dead.*
The wind roared past his face as Xin Jing’s horse galloped through the dark night. He charged toward the capital in this blizzard, carrying his blade, swallowing his own blood, racing frantically across the vast wilderness thousands of miles away.
Jibai Yue chased him desperately from behind, but no matter what he shouted, Xin Jing could no longer hear him.
In the frantic gallop, the horse stumbled and broke its leg, crashing down with a scream. Xin Jing fell into the snow, but he dragged his blade, crawled up, and continued forward. Jibai Yue caught up and grabbed the scabbard of Tiandao, sobbing, “Young Master! Where are you going!”
Xin Jing kicked him away, his taut spine looking as if it would snap at a single touch.
“Young Master!” Jibai Yue crawled forward and hugged Xin Jing’s legs, choking out, “You can’t go! You can’t go!”
Xin Jing kicked him frantically. Meng Chen and Wu Yu, who had caught up, pounced together to pin Xin Jing down. Xin Jing was pressed into the snow, gasping for breath, still trying to crawl forward.
“Young Master!” Jibai Yue knelt beside him, covering his face and losing his voice to grief. “Even if you go, what then! Will you kill the Emperor!”
“I’m going to kill him!” Xin Jing’s calm facade was suddenly torn to shreds. He pounded the ground, blow after heavy blow, sobbing hoarsely, “I’m going to kill them all.”
The blizzard blew away his tears. His eyes were parched; he could no longer shed a single tear. Even as he wailed, no tears came.
They would never flow again.
“Mother,” Xin Jing lay in the snow, the icy meltwater rolling down his face as he murmured, “Mother.”
His flesh and bone were already mostly broken.
Regardless of the wind, snow, and cold, regardless of the blades and swords upon him.
He could no longer feel anything.
Once the fifty-third year passed, the fifty-fourth year began.
Prince Yan was failing.
He often coughed blood incessantly, and because of the hardships in the army, he had no rest. The capital sent several messages of condolence, but the medicinal tonics were tossed into the tent to gather dust. The Emperor mentioned the matter of his retirement, but Prince Yan ignored it.
Even when the imperial edict arrived outside the tent, he merely sat inside, wiping his blade.
He had spent his life on horseback; he was destined to be buried in a horse shroud.
The last time Xin Jing saw him was before heading north to pursue Dayuan. Xin Jing had already fought his way to Wanze and was about to break Jianan; Prince Yan was to strike the Zhadalan tribe to the east.
Father and son sat together.
“Mount Jianan won’t be easy to take,” Prince Yan smiled at him. “Alslen won’t be easy to fight, either.”
Xin Jing nodded, his hand never leaving the Tiandao at his waist. His expression was profound, his eyes dark and hollow.
“A-Jing,” Prince Yan stretched out his legs. “Come, compare with me.”
Xin Jing also stretched out his legs; he was already a bit taller than Prince Yan. Looking at that extra length, Prince Yan gave him a light punch on the back. “A pillar of heaven.”
Xin Jing also gave his father a light punch on the back and said, “A pillar of heaven.”
The two looked down and laughed together. Prince Yan leaned back on his hands, looking at the sky. “I haven’t seen Xin Yi in a long time.”
“Mm.” Xin Jing thought of something and smiled. “He doesn’t stutter anymore.”
They sat for a while until Jibai Yue stood in the distance, holding Xin Jing’s horse. Prince Yan patted Xin Jing’s shoulder. “Go.”
Xin Jing nodded, stood up, and brushed the dust off his robes. “Then I’m leaving.”
Prince Yan nodded, and Xin Jing turned away. After a few steps, he turned back and said to Prince Yan, “Take care, Old Man.”
Prince Yan smiled, watching him gallop toward the north until he was out of sight.
Spring had not yet arrived.
Prince Yan passed away.
Spring.
Xin Jing reached Wanze, the towering Mount Jianan blocking the way before him. Once he crossed it, there would be nothing left for him to do in this life. Once they reached this point and Dayuan was defeated, the Beiyang army would no longer have to campaign here and there. The nation would be stable; what would be left for him?
Xin Jing missed home.
He looked down and smiled, touching the corner of his mouth that clearly hadn't moved, thinking: *Where is there to go back to?*
During this final assault, Alslen’s eagles circled in the clouds of Mount Jianan. As Xin Jing fought, he suddenly wanted to laugh.
His blade was called Tiandao—the Heavenly Way.
Didn't that seem ridiculous?
Alslen was a dog abandoned by the Qiyan tribe, guarding Mount Jianan. If he couldn't hold it, his Zhadalan tribe would be the next to be exterminated. Xin Jing was already numb; he no longer remembered how many of the thirty-two tribes of Dayuan he had wiped out.
It seemed that one more or one less made no difference.
He had fought his way here, seeing the wailing and agony of the Dayuan people. Dayuan had even banned the character “Jing”; they feared him so much they only knew how to run, trembling at the mere mention of his name. Xin Jing’s Tiandao was heavy, carrying both the pain upon the blade and the souls beneath it. If one were to strip away Xin Jing’s clothes, his body was riddled with scars, yet none were as terrifying as his heart.
He was not originally such a person.
What a cruel path it had been.
Xin Jing suddenly blocked Alslen’s long blade, but the edge still slashed across Jibai Yue’s brow. Blood obscured his vision. In the chaos, Jibai Yue dragged his heavy bow and gave Alslen a blow to the stomach.
“Get to the back,” Xin Jing said to Jibai Yue, his blade trembling slightly under Alslen’s heavy pressure. “You’re an archer; what are you doing playing the hero at the front?”
Jibai Yue scrambled up and quickly retreated.
Xin Jing turned his blade to strike Alslen’s left side, but it was quickly blocked by the long blade. Alslen gave a low shout and, maintaining that posture, shoved Xin Jing backward.
“I will not let you cross Mount Jianan!” Alslen roared. “Xin Jing!”
Xin Jing dug his heel in, stopping his retreat. He let out a laugh. “Ah, you try it then! Try it, you old lion!”
The battle concentrated on this field; both the Beiyang army and Dayuan had reached their final stand. Mount Jianan remained silent and lonely, saying nothing.
Blades clashed, and screams filled the heavens.
The waters of Wanze were dyed crimson; blood flowed continuously, turning into a gurgling stream. The heartbreak of countless people was contained in this single war. Only by experiencing it personally could one understand how much people dreamed of a world at peace, without war.
Only by experiencing it personally.
The long blade was straight; it felt very swift when it pierced through the chest. One thrust was enough.
Tiandao struck the Lion King’s shoulder bone but failed to take his life.
Alslen spoke in a low voice near Xin Jing’s ear: “Mount Jianan is Dayuan’s line of defense. You’ve reached it, Xin Jing. You will never cross it.”
Xin Jing pulled out Tiandao, took a step back, and swayed. The wind blew his hair. He smiled, turned his hand, and thrust Tiandao heavily into the earth beneath his feet.
It was as if he had drawn an invisible chasm.
“Just one step away.” Xin Jing finally let go of Tiandao’s hilt, swaying as he took another step back, looking at his blade. “I’ve made it this far.”
Alslen suddenly raised his fist and shouted with reddened eyes, “Dayuan’s Eternal Protection!”
Countless Dayuan soldiers raised their fists and roared in unison, “Dayuan’s Eternal Protection!”
Yet Xin Jing also raised his fist and roared at the top of his lungs, “Though my body dies, my soul guards the land!” Blood soaked his armor in large patches as he roared hoarsely, “The one who breaks Jianan in the days to come shall surely be a son of the Xin family of Beiyang!”
The remaining soldiers behind him wept together. Jibai Yue raised his heavy bow and, amidst the roars of countless compatriots, also screamed, “Though my body dies, my soul guards the land!”
Beiyang would not perish.
Xin Jing fell straight backward, lying in the filth and blood. The hair ribbon Xin Jing had given him also snapped in the air, and his hair fell in a mess.
If it’s broken, then it’s broken.
Xin Jing thought with a touch of helplessness.
Regardless, we are all about to meet.
Spring has come.
Let’s go home.
Xin Jing, the eldest son of the Prince of Yan of Beiyang, died in battle at Wanze in the spring of the fifty-fourth year of Hongxing.
In winter, Prince Ping returned in triumph and took Xin Yi, the sole remaining son of the Xin family of Beiyang, to Posuo City in Shanyin. The Crown Prince, under the guise of shared command, partitioned the three hundred thousand troops of the Beiyang army and dismantled the Three Fords. The Prince of Yan’s manor was heard of no more.
Four years later.
Posuo City burned. Prince Ping was executed in Posuo for the capital crime of rebellion. The mute Xin Yi was brought to the capital by the Prince of Pacification, Bo Jiu, and studied under Zuo Kaizhi of the Court of Judicial Review.
Another four years later.
Dayuan returned.
Xin Yi was enfeoffed as the Prince of Yan. He launched a pincer attack on Alslen with the Qiyan tribe, rescued Shangjin, and broke Jianan. Upon ascending Mount Jianan, he spoke only one sentence:
“The one who broke Jianan is a son of the Xin family of Beiyang.”
Three months later.
Prince Tang rebelled.
The Emperor died suddenly, and the Crown Prince perished amidst the chaotic army. At that time, Xin Yi, the Prince of Yan, led the Beiyang army south to Jiangtang, working with the Prince of Pacification, Bo Jiu, to quell the rebellion. Xiao Jin, the Commander of the Capital Guard, draped the yellow robe over the Prince of Yan at the foot of Mount Luyi, kneeling to hail him as Emperor.
The Prince of Yan ascended the throne in the line of succession.
Beiyang and the Three Fords were united under the name “Jing.”
Jing.
To pacify the land.
The Xin Family of Beiyang · End
***
