It must have been the fifth or sixth year of her marriage to Chao Ning—Jiang Nong couldn’t remember exactly.
All she knew was that her former lover had become a heinous tyrant, breached the city gates, and—according to others—Chao Ning had been captured alive by Yu Lingxin.
Her aunt wept, begging her to intercede, to use her old connection with Yu Lingxin to ask for Chao Ning’s release. Jiang Nong naturally could not refuse.
She didn’t know how much sway she had, but Chao Ning had been good to her, and she was willing to try. She still naively believed that Yu Lingxin would not harm women or children.
Her aunt saw her off, handing her a farewell cup of wine, urging her to drink before she left.
When she arrived, she learned that Chao Ning was already dead—his head hung at the city gate.
Yu Lingxin’s condition for retreating was her. He had launched the campaign for her sake. Her aunt and uncle, with the enemy at the gates, had wanted to send her out from the start—after all, Tan was no longer what it had been. A woman was just a woman.
Chao Ning had tried to borrow troops from Xi, but Jiang Biao had been too cowardly to fight and abandoned him alone.
Her aunt, fearing she would refuse, had lied, claiming she was to serve as an envoy to negotiate a city-for-hostage exchange—the documents were forgeries too.
If she’d known Chao Ning would die, she would have rather learned the truth sooner. There would have been no war, and Chao Ning would not have died.
She stabbed Yu Lingxin with a hairpin; she tried and failed to kill herself. Those were times she didn’t want to recall. Her gentle, shy lover had become a demon, and the best brother she’d ever known was dead.
Jiang Nong desperately wanted to die. Perhaps all the turmoil wore her down; her body grew weaker. Eventually, Yu Lingxin agreed to send her back to Xi—but Jiang Biao refused to take her in. Desperate, feeling abandoned by everyone, her health deteriorated further.
Then came the child.
Small, soft, pink, and good-natured. Quiet even in the womb—she hadn’t even been discovered until four months. So different from Jiang Nong’s own lively, restless childhood. Jiang Nong unconsciously ignored the fact that the child’s disposition was exactly like Yu Lingxin’s in his early years.
The child clung to her arm, whimpering softly when apart but never too noisy. Even when no one attended her, she’d soon soothe herself. Jiang Nong had a new loved one, and gave her the childhood name Xiaoman.
Later, her health worsened. She heard the chief physician say her poison had seeped into her bones—there was no cure. She’d known a thousand ways to die, but never by poison. Was it Yu Lingxin tormenting her, or had someone else hated her that much? She conveniently placed the blame on the former.
No matter how much she hated Yu Lingxin, she had to think of Xiaoman. In her dying days, she couldn’t count how many times she’d told Yu Lingxin that abandoning him had been against her will—nearly vomiting from the disgust—hoping he’d show some mercy to the child. But his expression only grew colder, telling her he didn’t believe a word.
Now it was clear: Yu Lingxin hadn’t believed a single word. His hatred for her was absolute.
Yu Lingxin’s gaze traced her soft eyes and her unconsciously parted lips. Her urgent need for news of the child had lowered her guard.
The sea of hatred in him, which had momentarily subsided, surged again—like water that boils the moment it’s heated.
So you love that child that much? Enough to speak kindly of me on your deathbed for her sake?
Even a child born of hate—do you still love her? If you’d had a child with Chao Ning, would you love that one more, or my child?
He sneered inwardly.
Too bad. You’ll never see her again. Only her father remains.
Will you see any of her in me, Jiang Nong? When you look at me, will you think of her? And when you do—will you hate me more, or miss her more?
Jiang Nong was both hopeful and afraid. His cold palm covered her face completely.
He held it there for a while, warming it, then smiled at her: “Guess?”
Guess?
She didn’t dare guess. She had no idea what he was capable of. At worst, she imagined he might have recreated his own childhood for the child.
Her eyes dimmed. Yu Lingxin cupped her face: “It’s not like I chopped her up and fed her to the dogs.”
That was far worse than her worst-case scenario. Her lips pressed together. He pressed his forehead against hers, laughing—she caught the scent of withered sandalwood on him.
He said: “Jiang Nong, you’re so easy to fool. Yes, I chopped her up and fed her to the dogs. How pitiful—I didn’t even chop you up, but I did that to her. What now? She’d grown so big—one dog couldn’t eat it all, could it?”
“How old had she gotten?”
“Over ten, I think—I can’t quite remember.” As he spoke, he let his weight settle on her.
Jiang Nong knew then that the child was alive, well, and already quite tall. She also knew Yu Lingxin was deliberately holding this over her, playing with her, never intending to tell. She bent her knee and drove it hard into his stomach. He grunted in pain and released her; she seized the moment to slip out from under him.
Turning, she saw him still curled in the same position, clutching his stomach, frozen. His hair fell over his face, hiding his expression—he seemed to be in great pain.
She gave him a light shove: “Are you all right? I didn’t hit you that hard. Stop pretending.”
He collapsed with the shove, falling back onto the jade mat. Jiang Nong was genuinely startled—what if she’d accidentally ruptured something?
If he died, what would she do?
The news would spread like wildfire in no time. Could she adopt a child from the imperial clan before things fell apart? Probably not—a weak widow and orphan wouldn’t last long. Who would send her back to Xi?
Where was the military talisman? Where was Yu Lingxin’s imperial seal?
Could she call a physician? Which one was loyal to Yu Lingxin? Did a man like him even have loyal subjects?
A thousand thoughts raced through her mind in an instant.
Yu Lingxin, lying there like a corpse, saw her pale, frozen, wanting to touch him but not daring, and burst out laughing, shaking all over.
Jiang Nong realized he was faking it: “That’s not funny at all. Are you sick?”
Still lying on the mat, hair spread out, his bright eyes curving: “Jiang Nong, you know? Whether you love someone or hate someone, you’re always extreme. When you loved me, you held me like I’d melt; now you want me dead.”
Love and hate were but a moment’s transition—at least for him. One moment the Jiang Nong in his memory still loved him; the next, she wanted him dead. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong—only killed many people. Was that wrong? No.
Jiang Nong didn’t know what he meant by saying this—to remind her she’d once loved a worthless man? To provoke and humiliate her?
She stayed coldly silent. Yu Lingxin propped his head on his arm and suddenly asked: “Jiang Nong, do you hate me because I killed Chao Ning?”
“And for destroying my country.”
“Is that all?”
“What else?” Jiang Nong thought—wasn’t that enough?
“Chao Ning wasn’t killed by me alone—why don’t you hate Jiang Biao? If I hadn’t killed Chao Ning, would I just wait for him to kill me? And you hate me for destroying Xi? They all abandoned you—I avenged you. Shouldn’t you be grateful?”
“Sophistry! You twist everything! They’re my family—”
“Right, right—they’re all your family, only I’m an outsider. So when they do wrong, you forgive them—you’ve even planned out Jiang Biao’s future. But when I do wrong, I deserve to be flayed and damned for eternity. Your heart was never fair. If Chao Ning had killed me, you’d be applauding.” He sneered.
She wanted to slap him again.
“You slaughter innocents and expect praise? You’re bloodthirsty and warmongering—do you even know how many lives you’ve cost? Am I a goddess, able to see everyone’s perspective equally? I have partiality for my family—is that wrong?”
“I thought you were above that. You love everyone equally—turns out you have favorites.” He sneered. “Throughout history, every emperor who unified the realm waged war. The ones who succeeded were praised and immortalized. No one speaks for the dead soldiers and commoners then. Only with me, everything I do is wrong in your eyes.”
“I have never believed that attacking others when they’re weak and at peace is right. Using people’s lives and happiness as stepping stones for a ruler’s desires and ambition—it’s disgusting.
The dead don’t speak; only the living sing praises. Among your ministers and nobles, did any lose a son or daughter in the flames of war? They’re all beneficiaries—of course they’ll flatter you, urge you on. Can you hear the voices of the dead? You can’t.”
For once, Yu Lingxin didn’t respond with madness. He listened, then draped his arm over his eyes and fell silent for a long time.
At root, he and Jiang Nong had become different people. His conscience, his kindness, his compassion had been lost somewhere, in some unknown year.
He didn’t care about human life—not others’, not even his own. How could someone like that care about anyone else’s death?
But Jiang Nong did.
Their conflict across two lifetimes stemmed from this.
She thought she’d moved him, that his conscience had stirred, that he meant to change. But after a while, he just yawned and grinned: “What does that have to do with me?”
Jiang Nong crushed the orange in her hand, juice splattering. She hurled it at his face.
Leave a Reply