Wen Zuhuan’s injuries were severe. After two or three days of being plied with an endless stream of costly tonics, he barely clung to life—but his legs were broken, and one arm was rendered useless.
The Marquis of Huaiyin fainted on the spot. Upon waking, he furiously demanded justice from the emperor. Lady Jieyu tearfully begged Jiang Nong to marry Wen Zuhuan—to quell the disaster Jiang Biao had caused.
“Nongnong, if you don’t help your brother this time, he’ll never have a chance at the throne again.”
Jiang Nong sat upright, letting her speak, but in truth she hadn’t heard a single word. The Imperial Guard had searched for three days straight—Yu Lingxin and Xunliang had vanished without a trace, neither dead nor alive, and were suspected to have been taken across the border toward Tan.
Lately, rumors of unrest from Tan had been drifting in—several princes were making their moves. Even secluded as she was in the inner palace, she’d heard whispers. Clearly, Tan was in utter chaos over the succession; it was uncertain whether the old king was even still alive.
Jiang Nong had thought this wouldn’t affect Yu Lingxin. What did a long-exiled hostage have to do with a succession struggle? Why drag him into it? Couldn’t they just let him live out his life in peace?
Yu Lingxin was someone who couldn’t even bear to kill a rabbit. Jiang Nong had no idea how terrified he must be now.
What if he died in Tan? He was still so young?
Lost in thought, she pressed her hand to her forehead. Lady Jieyu, seeing her clearly distracted, wept even louder, calling her unfilial.
Jiang Nong had been in a daze for days. She could only ask Xifeng to help her gather news from Tan—to find out whether Yu Lingxin was alive or dead.
Jiang Yuan moved in with Jiang Nong, staying by her side at night, holding her and comforting her: “It’s alright—he’s got nine lives. Last time he was at death’s door and came back. He won’t die easily this time either. Besides, Nongnong, you’ve done all you could. The struggle for the throne is beyond us. Even if Yu Lingxin really dies, he certainly wouldn’t blame you—I’m sure his last thoughts would be of you, grateful for everything you’ve done.”
If Jiang Nong hadn’t heard that comfort, she might have been fine—but once she did, tears streamed down her face without stopping. It was like she’d raised a little dog, and one moment of inattention let someone snatch it away to skin and cook it. And Jiang Yuan was telling her that the puppy’s last thoughts were surely of her. Jiang Nong was devastated. She threw her arms around Jiang Yuan’s neck and sobbed: “Stop talking.”
Jiang Yuan sensed she’d said something wrong but couldn’t figure out what—so she just let Jiang Nong cling to her.
Seven days passed in a fog. Then Xifeng sent word back: a new king had ascended in Tan—but more details required further investigation.
Before Xifeng could send another message, Tan had already dispatched envoys: they brought a new hostage, and sought a princess of Xi to be the new king’s empress. And this new emperor—to everyone’s shock—was Yu Lingxin, the one nobody had ever expected.
“The situation was urgent. Only a few high ministers in the court knew of the plan to install the new emperor. To prevent any leak, we were forced to take him by such means. Please forgive any discourtesy.”
The envoys’ explanations were vague, but the shrewd among them could read between the lines.
The princes had been locked in struggle, and several ambitious ministers had orchestrated this surprise succession: they’d kidnapped the isolated, powerless Yu Lingxin, brought him back to Tan, enthroned him as their puppet, and would thereby seize control of the court.
Even after his ascension, half the court opposed him. To shore up his rule, these ministers had sought a marriage alliance with Xi, offering the position of empress as a show of authority.
Emperor Zhengyuan was clearly tempted. The position of empress—even from the weakest of the five kingdoms—was a prize he could secure simply by giving away one daughter. This would forge the strongest alliance. If Yu Lingxin eventually seized real power, he’d profit; if Yu Lingxin remained a puppet, he’d still profit. Unless Yu Lingxin was deposed—and since the empress was his Xi princess, he could simply welcome her back and marry her off again. If she died, he’d have even more leverage to extort Tan.
In every way, it was to his advantage.
This was the most generous marriage alliance in history. In the past, they’d only offered the position of prince’s consort or crown prince’s consort—but crown princes rose and fell in an instant.
Jiang Yuan was still happy about it, telling Jiang Nong that Yu Lingxin had truly made something of himself, asking if Jiang Nong would now choose Yu Lingxin over Chao Ning. But then her mother scolded her soundly—was the empress of a puppet king such an easy role? Had she forgotten the tragic fate of Empress Fu?
Only then did Jiang Yuan realize the terror, and she trembled in silence.
Emperor Zhengyuan currently had three daughters of marriageable age: Jiang Yuan, Jiang Nong, and Jiang Miao. In order of seniority, Jiang Yuan should be the one sent.
Jiang Yuan was so frightened she sobbed through the nights, unable to sleep, terrified that she’d wake to a marriage decree and be thrown into that den of wolves.
The Empress Dowager, of course, refused to let Jiang Nong go. That left only Jiang Miao. Emperor Zhengyuan was not entirely satisfied with this choice—of the three, he favored Jiang Nong. Jiang Yuan was too impulsive; Jiang Miao was timorous as a mouse. Only Jiang Nong, quiet and composed, seemed steady and clever.
Jiang Miao spent her days in tears. Jiang Yuan had Lady Li to protect her, and Jiang Nong had the Empress Dowager to speak for her. After all her fretting, wasn’t she the one who would end up married off to Tan and suffer? Compared to marrying Yu Lingxin, she’d rather marry Wen Zuhuan.
By now, Jiang Nong understood clearly. No matter how much she pitied Yu Lingxin, to protect herself, she couldn’t wade into these muddy waters.
In ancient times, Guo and Gao supported Prince Xiaobai in claiming the throne; now, Ministers Lü and Han had installed Yu Lingxin as emperor. But Yu Lingxin was no Duke Huan of Qi—he couldn’t unify the realm under heaven. He would be nothing but a puppet, a fish on the chopping block. Lü and Han intended to control the emperor and command the nobles.
Jiang Nong remembered her past life: those two ministers hadn’t dared to breathe in Yu Lingxin’s presence. Now the tables had turned, and it was Yu Lingxin living under their thumb.
It was almost funny, but Jiang Nong was afraid that laughing would cost her merit.
Emperor Zhengyuan summoned Jiang Nong for several talks. The more he tried to coerce and bribe her, the more stubbornly she refused—much to her father’s displeasure.
The envoys were still waiting to finalize the marriage, eager to seal a solid alliance between the two kingdoms.
Jiang Nong went to the academy as usual one morning. Jiang Yuan lay slumped over her desk, listlessly catching up on sleep. Jiang Nong looked around but didn’t see Jiang Miao, who usually arrived earliest. Not long after, chaos erupted in the academy—someone said there’d been a hanging, and Jiang Miao’s name was spoken in hushed tones.
Jiang Nong shook Jiang Yuan awake and pulled her toward Jiang Miao’s residence.
When they arrived, they found a crowd of imperial physicians. Jiang Miao’s mother held her, wailing; Jiang Miao had just regained consciousness and was sobbing in return.
“Just let me die, Mother—please don’t make me marry into Tan. I’m so scared. I’d rather die here in Xi.” At the mention of the marriage alliance, she trembled violently. Her mother was even more helpless, crying louder than she did.
The two wept in each other’s arms; even Jiang Yuan’s eyes grew red. She wanted to offer herself, but didn’t dare.
She knew she wasn’t clever—sent into that nest of factional strife, she’d be toyed with. But she was still better off than Jiang Miao, who had nearly hanged herself out of sheer terror.
Jiang Nong stood still, surrounded by sobs.
The empress’s position was a gesture of great sincerity from Tan. Xi couldn’t very well pass over its eligible princesses and send a collateral clan daughter instead—that would be a blatant slap in the face.
Jiang Nong felt adrift, unable to find solid ground. Since her rebirth, she felt as if some unseen force was always pulling her back on track. Every time she made her own decision—no matter how rational or correct—something would happen to steer her elsewhere.
She tried to kill Yu Lingxin; he saved Chao Ning and stirred her conscience, making her change her mind. She tried to protect him; he was kidnapped and enthroned. She knew she should stay out of this; the Empress Dowager could keep her safe—but Jiang Yuan had a lover, and Jiang Miao had tried to hang herself.
It was as if fate had foreseen it all, removing Jiang Su—the best candidate—at exactly the right time. If Jiang Su had married a month later, or Yu Lingxin taken the throne a month earlier, Jiang Nong wouldn’t have been the only answer among the three.
Jiang Su—that woman with her fiery ambition and cold, calculating brilliance—would have been perfect. Married to Yu Lingxin, she could have saved him from disaster.
Jiang Nong couldn’t let Jiang Yuan suffer another lifetime of separation from Xifeng. Nor could she stand by and watch Jiang Miao hang herself in terror.
As for Chao Ning—he was certainly her best choice, but not her only one.
Fate was pushing her and Yu Lingxin together once more.
After a long silence, Jiang Nong finally found her voice amid the weeping: “Stop crying. I’ll go.”
Jiang Miao looked up through tear-blurred eyes, and in that moment, Jiang Nong seemed to be bathed in divine light—like Guanyin herself, saving her from suffering.
A pause, then her sobs grew louder: “Sister! Sister! I’m so sorry!”
She wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Jiang Yuan buried her face in Jiang Nong’s chest and wailed.
She knew—by age, the marriage was hers to bear.
But once Jiang Nong said it, a weight lifted. She even had the composure to hold and comfort them both.
She had been supporting and being supported by the Yu Lingxin of now. It wasn’t unbearable. At worst, she’d die again—and this extra year of life was already a gift.
In her past life, when she was sixteen or seventeen, love had clouded her mind. She’d made all kinds of promises, even swearing to Yu Lingxin that they’d be husband and wife for eternity—share a bed in life, a grave in death—always caring for him, loving him, supporting him, heart to heart, until they were old and gray.
That damned vow was finally coming true.
—
“Minister Lü, why won’t you look at me?”
The young man’s low, lazy voice echoed through the empty hall, ethereal and captivating.
Lü Chengchen lay trembling on the cold floor tiles, his body rigid. The polished surface reflected his pale face, sweat slicking his skin, dripping from his temples to the ground—tap, tap, tap.
The faint sound now carried a death-knell urgency.
The tip of a sword hooked under his chin and lifted it. The cold metal made him shudder. He had no choice but to raise his head—but he dared not meet the other’s gaze.
“I prefer you in your former arrogance, Minister Lü. So timid, and with such crude methods—how disappointing.”
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